Framing My Story: Photography, Autism, and Black Identity
The Power of Perspective
Growing up, eye contact was one of my biggest struggles. It’s a common trait in autism, but for me, it was more than discomfort—it felt impossible. In conversations, my eyes would dart away, searching for an escape. When I picked up a camera, something changed. Through the viewfinder, I could hold someone’s gaze without fear. I could study their expressions, capture their emotions, and connect with them in a way I never could before.
That’s how I fell in love with portrait photography. Portraits are deeply intimate—they tell stories without words. I never ask my subjects to smile because I want to capture what’s real, not what’s rehearsed. I talk to them as I shoot, letting their natural emotions emerge. Every detail matters—not just the person in front of the lens but also the world behind them. Being autistic makes me hyperaware of every element in a frame. I see everything, ensuring nothing distracts from the story I want to tell.
Growing Up Black, Autistic, and Homeless
My view of the world was shaped by struggle. Growing up Black and homeless already put me on a different path, but adding autism made that path even lonelier. Before my diagnosis, my school psychologist sat across from me and told me I should drop out and become a train driver since I loved trains so much. To this white psychologist, I was just another Black teenager with no future. To me, that moment became fuel. I refused to let anyone define my limits.
Years later, when I had the opportunity to photograph for Amtrak, I felt like I had finally answered that moment from my childhood. I wasn’t a dropout. I wasn’t a failure. I was standing on platforms, riding in locomotives, and capturing the beauty of trains—not as a fallback but as a personal victory. That experience taught me that photography wasn’t just about images—it was about reclaiming my own narrative.
Autism Advocacy & Representation
When I first started advocating for autism awareness, I noticed something immediately: all the faces of autism I saw were white. Most were college-educated, from stable homes, celebrating early interventions and access to resources I had never known. None of their stories looked like mine.
Then I spoke at an autism summit in a Black community. I shared my story—the homelessness, the struggles with a drug-abusing household, the way I was dismissed as just another Black kid who didn’t care about his future. After my talk, parents came up to me in tears, telling me they saw their own children in my words. That moment changed everything for me. I realized I had a responsibility to be honest—to tell my story without sugarcoating it, without making autism seem like it was all flowers and balloons.
The Intersection of Black History & My Story
Black History Month isn’t just about the past—it’s about the present and future. It’s about celebrating resilience, breaking barriers, and amplifying voices that have been silenced. My story is a part of that history because I exist in a space where Black autistic voices are often overlooked.
Photography gives me the power to change that. Every time I capture a Black face in an authentic, unfiltered way, I’m creating representation that I didn’t have growing up. Every time I share my autism journey, I’m proving that our struggles and successes matter. Every time I frame an image, I’m not just taking a picture—I’m rewriting a narrative that society tried to write for me.
The Beauty in the Struggle
Autism is both a burden and a blessing. There are challenges, moments of isolation, and struggles that don’t disappear; But it has also given me a unique way of seeing the world, a gift that has shaped my success as a photographer.
If I had the chance to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. My journey—through homelessness, through doubt, through finding my place behind the camera—has led me here. And now, through my lens, I have the power to show the world exactly what I see.
For my mother, thank you pouring so much love into my heart…. I miss you