The Dream Chasers
There’s something truly remarkable about witnessing someone in pursuit of their dreams. Most people are captivated by the finished product—by success. And while success is a beautiful thing, I’ve always believed the more compelling story lies in the journey—the climb, not the arrival.
A few days ago, I got a text from a model I had worked with. She was in town for a concert—not to shoot, but to perform—and asked if I could come out and support her. I was free that evening, and I’m always down to maintain connections, so I decided to go. Plus, it was a chance to grab some concert shots.
The venue was tucked into East Atlanta Village, a small performance space attached to an even smaller bar. The area is known for its eclectic crowd—a melting pot of artists, misfits, and free spirits. In many circles, they might be seen as outcasts. But in EAV, when enough “outcasts” gather, that word loses its meaning. I actually grew up about five or ten minutes away, so to me, these weren’t outcasts—they were just neighbors. And neighbors don’t have to look like you to feel familiar.
The concert space was tight and the lighting wasn’t great—par for the course in small venues. But as a photographer, you learn to adapt. I cranked up the ISO and planned to work with the stage lights, bouncing flash where I could to fill in the shadows.
The first performer came out with an acoustic guitar and sang a few folk songs. My settings worked, and I was able to grab a few solid frames mid-performance. By then, about 15–20 people had made their way to the dance floor, moving in that uninhibited way that only happens when people stop caring who’s watching. Everyone danced to their own beat, connecting with the music and the moment. The vibe was pure freedom. She even switched to a violin toward the end of her set, and the crowd erupted in cheers when she finished.
Then Abi took the stage. She touched her keyboard, shook her head, and leaned into the mic: “I can’t hear it.” Just minutes ago during soundcheck, it had worked fine. Now, nothing. It was the kind of nightmare you hope never happens—especially on your way up. The sound engineer moved fast, chasing wires, unplugging and reconnecting gear until finally—sound. A single note came through the speaker, and just like that, the show could go on. Abi had to shift her mindset quickly—from frustration to performance mode. And she did. The moment the music started flowing, everything else faded. She was in her element, and the crowd was right there with her, dancing, vibing, hanging on every note. Even after the rough start, she finished strong, with cheers filling the room.
For the final set, she was joined by a violinist and tambourine player. Together, they played a few more folk melodies—him with the violin, her with an accordion. The audience loved every minute and so did I. How far they will go in the future is unknown. They’re simply a group of dream chasers tirelessly trying to bring their message and melodies to the masses.
