Jaek Delarge. A name that carries weight in the city, like an echo bouncing off the walls of every dimly lit studio and back alley venue that ever mattered. Our first meeting? Nothing grand. Just two souls colliding over some food, trading words, trading ideas—though, in hindsight, I think he knew something I didn’t.

See, back then, I hadn’t fully grasped what the lens could do for me. I was holding it, sure, but I wasn’t seeing. Not the way I do now. Jaek saw it, though. He saw the frames before they existed, the angles before they were found. And before I knew it, he wasn’t just a friend—he was the catalyst. The one who nudged me toward the path I hadn’t even realized I was walking.

It was Jaek who introduced me to concert photography at the Mod Club when that place still breathed with J-Soul. A fleeting moment, an introduction, a doorway opening without me even realizing I was stepping through. And then? LA. The city of smoke and neon, of late nights spent capturing moments that would never happen the same way twice. We were shooting BTS for Just Over Brilliant, weaving through studios and sunlit streets, chasing something intangible but knowing we’d caught it every time the shutter clicked.

That trip wasn’t just a project—it was the beginning of something bigger. A silent agreement. Jaek moved, I captured. His story, his presence, the way he existed in a space—I made sure none of it disappeared into the void. And somewhere in the process, I realized I wasn’t just documenting. I was part of it.

Jaek Delarge and I? We built something. A legacy stitched together in light and shadow, in frames and fleeting moments. And the best part? We’re still writing it.