I’ve come to realize that I’m the kind of photographer who prefers to start with a blank canvas. While some thrive on capturing what’s directly in front of them, I come from a design background where every element within the frame is considered and intentionally-curated. So when adidas approached me to photograph their NYC Creative Class, I knew I wanted to bring that same philosophy to the project.

Now in its second season, the adidas NYC Creative Class brings together six creatives whose work reflects the different worlds that make up New York’s cultural landscape. This year’s class includes Chef Stikxz, who reimagines Caribbean cuisine through her NYAM dinner series; Anysia Kym, a Bronx-born musician whose sound moves between hip-hop, breakbeats, and sampling; and Ava María and Anton Bitter of BITTER000000, a Brooklyn-based design duo creating neo-punk, avant-garde grillz that turn everything from vampiric fans and architectural structures to spiderwebs and spikes into fashionable jewelry. There’s also Secret Riso Club, an artist-run print studio making publishing more accessible; Cycle Warner, whose textile sculptures explore identity, home, and memory; and Gabe Gordon, a fashion designer known for his experimental approach to knitwear.

What made this project particularly exciting was realizing how naturally I could connect with each of them through my own experiences within New York’s creative and underground communities.

Chef Stikxz and I had worked together on a cookbook a few years ago, so there was already a sense of familiarity. Although I’d never met Ava of BITTER000000, we share roots in South Carolina. Secret Riso Club’s printing practice connects directly to my background in graphic design, while Cyle Warner’s work crosses into photography. Gabe Gordon’s approach to fashion intersects with a world I’ve spent much of my career in, and Anysia Kym’s place within the underground music scene felt familiar through the artists and sounds I engage with every day.

Despite working across completely different disciplines, there was something recognizable about each of their stories. In many ways, I saw pieces of my own creative journey reflected in theirs. It’s what makes the Creative Class interesting to me: six distinct perspectives connected through a shared relationship with New York and the communities that shape its culture.

When adidas gave me the opportunity to lead the visual direction, I wanted to put a magnifying glass on each artist’s identity and allow their individual stories to inform the imagery. As a photographer, I’m constantly navigating the balance between making a living through my craft and finding ways to express myself creatively. I’ve found that one of the most rewarding ways to bridge the gap is to let the subject’s story drive the image.

With that in mind, I developed three distinct photographic approaches, each revealing a different side of the artists.

The first was an industrial environment inspired by the ruggedness of New York City. We incorporated props and objects specific to each artist, placing their individual practices within a shared setting. I wanted the imagery to reflect the Creative Class itself, bringing together different people in the same space without losing what makes them unique.

The second approach introduced a different backdrop color for each creative, chosen to reflect their individual aura and personality. By stripping away the environment, we could create something more minimal and intentional, using color, composition, and select props to continue telling each person’s story.

The final approach was a series of snapshot-style photographs. These were intended to feel more spontaneous and personal, offering a glimpse into each artist’s energy beyond their respective disciplines.

New York also became the inspiration behind our lighting. I wanted the images to carry the atmosphere of the city’s subway stations, with moody, dramatic overhead lighting that felt both cinematic and familiar. There’s something poetic about that connection. Much like a subway station, the adidas NYC Creative Class creates an intersection for people moving through different creative worlds.

Through this project, I had the opportunity to connect with a group of artists whose work contributes to the culture that makes this city what it is. But beyond capturing their identities, I became increasingly curious about the experiences, influences, and decisions that shaped their creative practices.

So I wanted to turn the conversation around. Rather than simply presenting these artists through my lens, I wanted to give them space to speak for themselves. I asked each member of the class a question rooted in something I think about within my own practice, from identity and community to influence, sustainability, and creative evolution.

What parts of your identity naturally find their way into your work, and how has your personal perspective shaped the stories you choose to tell?

My practice considers how Caribbean diasporic communities engage with moving through, negotiating, and transforming space. Presently, my work engages with the visual languages of Caribbean vernacular architecture, specifically the concrete breeze block, I create weavings made of heirloom fabrics that take the form of installations, sculptures, and tapestries, engaging architecture through a lens of pliability.

There is something deliberate about refusing permanence for a culture formed out of movement and displacement, and the ability to fold up architecture and redeploy it in new spaces mirrors the inherited condition of the diaspora itself. This is how I approach visual storytelling: not through a single image, but through structures that can be entered, carried, and reassembled.

How has community shaped your creative practice, and what do you think makes
creative work meaningful beyond the work itself?

I believe it’s right there in the question—community is what makes creative work meaningful. Art, design and publishing become vehicles that carry ideas across divides, across oceans and across tables. We view our work as a tool to connect with others, a container that holds seeds of ideas to spread.

We value having the means of production to disseminate ideas and voices outside of traditional channels. This allows us to act immediately, to respond through design and printed material. For us, the most meaningful creative work isn’t a finished product; it creates a point of connection, giving others something to respond to, build upon, question, or carry forward.

Can you remember the moment you discovered your creative voice? How has your relationship with your craft evolved since then?

The moment I found my creative practice was when I used a DAW in high school for the first time and experimented with sampling. The process of deconstructing something that already existed, then adding new sounds, textures, tempos, and even sometimes fitting it into a different time signature, really excited me. It’s such a personalized experience.

Since then, my practice has evolved into songwriting and singing over my own productions. Because I’m self-taught, my overall creative practice is predicated on hands-on learning; I work by trying different approaches to creating a song, and trusting my own taste and style over technicality for the end result.

Who had the biggest influence on you when you were first developing your practice, and what about their approach continues to inspire you today?

Shaun Leane, a jewelry designer who fuses genres through collaboration — notably with Alexander McQueen — was a major influence when we first began developing our practice. His work embodies something we aspire to: the ambition of an artist supported by the judgment and skill of a jeweler. That combination of expressive freedom, technical precision, and sensitivity to the sculptural aspects of the body and teeth continues to inspire our work.

There’s something romantic about making an object that goes inside someone’s body and only reveals itself when they speak or smile. That intimacy shapes how we approach grillz, considering both their uniqueness to the individual and how they become part of someone’s expression.

What have you learned about balancing creative expression with the business of building something sustainable, and what advice would you give someone navigating that balance?

I think it’s important to be mindful of the tension between the constant desire to make and create and the reality of running a business that ultimately relies on selling consumer goods.

Making has always been a deeply personal and emotional process for me, and I’m constantly thinking about how to balance that impulse with the responsibility of putting more things into the world.

For me, sustainability is as much about reusing materials, producing intentionally/ thoughtfully, and creating items with longevity as it is about building a practice that I can continue to sustain creatively and financially.

If you had to describe what you do without using your job title, what would you say? What makes your approach uniquely yours?

I create experiences through food that tell stories, evoke emotion, and connect people to culture. My work goes beyond the plate. It’s about honoring heritage while challenging tradition, transforming familiar ingredients and flavors into something unexpected, yet deeply rooted in authenticity.

What makes my approach distinct is my ability to balance instinct with intention. I don’t simply recreate dishes; I reinterpret them through my own lens, blending cultural storytelling, technique, creativity, and a sense of luxury. My Jamaican roots are the foundation, but my curiosity allows me to push beyond boundaries.

I want people to experience more than an incredible meal. I want them to feel something, remember something, and walk away with a deeper appreciation for the culture behind what they’ve tasted. I don’t just create food. I create a point of view.

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