Open Streets 2025

Somewhere between the grind of a board and the rumble of a jukebox memory, the street came alive. Fort Worth’s Open Streets wasn’t just an event—it was a resurrection. A revival of something raw, real, and quietly beautiful. For one Saturday, Magnolia Avenue morphed into a stretch of open invitation. Wheels rolled. Music pulsed. And life—honest and loud—showed up.

You could smell it in the air—sweat, sunscreen, street tacos, and summer almost here. Kids and grownups alike glided, stumbled, danced. But it was the skaters who caught my eye. The way they moved—sometimes graceful, sometimes reckless, always free—was like watching freedom in denim form.

There was a girl with a board and something to prove. You could feel it in the way she stood—nervous at first, just at the edge of the half pipe. Surrounded by a wall of guys, not one gave her grief, but still, she had to earn her space. And she did. Trick after trick, fall after fall. Each time she hit the pavement, she got back up with more fire than before. You could almost hear the silent cheer building—not from the crowd, but from the city itself, whispering you belong here. I whispered it too, behind my lens.

Then there was the boy—small, almost too small for the board he rode in on. He skated from the moment I arrived and never really stopped. Quietly relentless. Courage flickered across his face each time he dropped in, but once he did, it was like watching calm in motion. He wasn’t there for applause. He was there because this is what he does. Because some kids grow up with basketball hoops or backyard forts—and others, they grow up with pavement under their palms.

As I photographed the day, I kept drifting back—back to the ‘90s. To Foo Fighters posters on bedroom walls, to flannel shirts tied around the waist, to Nirvana echoing in cheap headphones. This wasn’t just a skate jam. This was old town America dusted off and made new again. No corporate flash, no overdone branding. Just people showing up. Being loud. Being kind. Being alive.

This is what community looks like when no one’s trying too hard. Families picnicked beside makeshift ramps. Strangers shared cold drinks. A man in leopard print shorts landed a trick that sent the whole block into cheer. And across the crowd—white, Black, brown, young, old—everyone was vibing to the same beat.

Every time I clicked the shutter, I imagined the photo as an album cover. As if each frame carried a chorus. Something off an old mixtape burned onto a scratched CD. Something like Everlong or Smells Like Teen Spirit. Something that made you believe you were invincible once—and maybe still are.

Open Streets reminded me that magic still happens when you close the roads and let the people fill the space. It reminded me that the soul of a city isn’t in its skyline. It’s right here, on the ground. In the wheels that spin, the knees that scrape, the music that spills out of someone’s speaker, and the camera that tries to hold it all.

It reminded me that we never really outgrow our boards—we just trade them for responsibilities. But days like this? They let us ride again.

Here’s the full photo drop from this year’s event ↓

I’ve started a GoFundMe to raise funds for new equipment that will help me keep doing what I do best — documenting life as it unfolds, with honesty and a little grit. My current setup has served me well, but it’s time for an upgrade that can meet the demands of high-resolution work, editing, and ongoing gallery projects.

If you’d like to support the journey, check out the campaign here. Donations go directly toward a new camera and laptop. No pressure — just gratitude.