Black velvet durag. Booth neon. After hours.
Lanta' Lanes is 21 frames from a business trip to Atlanta for the SEA award show, not a performance date - the same stay that produced a stop at Ponce City Market, plus wining and dining along the BeltLine and a shopping trip to Atlantic Station. This booth is somewhere inside that same stay, a dim room with a black tufted-leather bench while the light behind the counter cycled blue, green and magenta. The Nashville artist works a black velvet cap and durag with the ties left long, layered silver chains over a black tee, and a dark jacket hanging open. From elsewhere on that same BeltLine stretch, he posted: "Not even the promise of daylight can save you. In time all becomes shadow." (view the post)
The set stays in one seat and works the range from there. Early frames are level and unbothered - a flat stare down the lens, a woman leaning into the edge of the frame, a second figure reclined along the bench. The back half turns inward: head bowed over the knees, the cap and long ties filling the top of the frame, a hand dragged flat across the face somewhere between shielding the eyes and laughing.
"Lanta" is how the South says Atlanta, and the city runs through the catalogue as its own thread across several separate trips - the SEA award show, a Solo Dolo Experience show date, and this after-dark stretch, a booth instead of a storefront. The specific room goes unnamed - no signage in frame, just tufted leather, bar stools and neon - somewhere between the BeltLine and Atlantic Station.
The styling holds the whole time - velvet cap, durag ties, iced chain, dark tailoring. A look built to be seen, worn in a room lit like a photo was always going to happen.
What "Lanta' Lanes" means
A lane is a path you hold to. The title puts Atlanta and a set of lanes in one phrase, and the shoot answers by never leaving a single booth - the frame as a lane, the bench as a lane, the city outside reduced to whatever colour the bar is throwing that second. Staying in your lane, in the wolf's telling, is not caution; it is knowing the dark you came out of and moving through it on your own line. The VOID cannot be contained, but it can be navigated.
It closes the way the night reads - a hand across the face, magenta on the wall, the rest of the room somewhere just out of frame.
SEE ALL 21 PHOTOS FROM THE SHOOT HERE
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