A jazz funeral in 2016 was my first encounter with New Orleans — the brass band shaking the live oak trees, the whole neighborhood spilling into the streets in feathered hats and colorful suits, dancing together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Something in me fell open that day.

The second line carries a history both joyful and hard. Born from West African ritual, kept alive through generations by the Social Aid and Pleasure Clubs of Black New Orleans, it is a tradition of mourning and celebrating life all at once — elders, children, strangers, neighbors, all moving through the same streets together.

I have walked these parades for ten years now, camera in hand, grateful to witness a community that knows how to hold both grief and joy in the same breath.

New Orleans, 2016 – 2025