Where My Soul Found Its Rhythm: A Photographer's Love Affair with Preservation Hall

​New Orleans, the Crescent City, enticed me in my mid-20s. I followed the tourist trail, soaking up the French Market, Bourbon Street's revelry, and the swamp's mysteries. But one night, a different kind of enchantment seeped out from behind a diamond-cut window and an iron gate. It was jazz – raw, intoxicating, and overflowing with joy. It was love at first sound.

Preservation Hall became my sanctuary. I stayed until they closed, night after night, enthralled by the musicians. They weren't just playing; they were breathing life into the music, the sounds echoing off the worn floorboards.

This is where photography entered my story. Every detail – the talented musicians, their instruments, the signs, even the chairs – whispered tales of countless melodies played and lives touched. I felt compelled to capture it all, to document this temple of jazz and its soulful inhabitants.

Preservation Hall isn't just a venue; it's a living testament to the enduring power of music. Here, amidst the brick walls and the rhythmic pulse, I feel a deep sense of belonging. It's as if this small space was where I was meant to be, creating, capturing moments, and losing myself in the music's vibrations.

​This passion for preserving this legacy fuels my photography. I want everyone to experience the magic of Preservation Hall, the feeling of being transported by music. My photographs are an invitation to step into this world, to feel the energy, and to understand why this place holds such a special place in my heart.

Perhaps, someday, my ashes (I could only hope) will rest here too, a final testament to the music that gave my soul its rhythm. But for now, my lens continues to document the magic of Preservation Hall, ensuring its story lives on.