StanJohnson.co

Atlanta, Ga 2026.

I thought I might be rusty.

But it came back easy...
Like riding a bike.
Like muscle memory.
maybe this is what I needed…
35mm for the everyday ..

Atlanta, 2026.

Yesterday I spent the day at 404 Day at Underground Atlanta.

I got down there early because it had been a while since I’d really been able to get out and document the city the way I wanted to.

The city was just waking up.

There was a 5K moving through downtown before the 404 Day parade and everything else began.
I did a few laps through downtown getting my reps in before everything started. Ran into a few photographer homies I hadn’t seen in a minute.

We talked about projects. About what we’re working on. About trying to stay disciplined and keep making work even when life gets in the way. We talked about the new Gordon Parks color photography exhibition at Jackson Fine Art and how good it feels when you see work that reminds you why you started.

Before the crowds.
Before the parade.
Before the 404 Day festivities really took off.

Around 10am my Mamiya 7 stopped working.

Completely threw me off.

For a second I stood there frustrated.

But I’ve been trying to teach myself that when something goes wrong, stressing about it doesn’t move you any closer to the solution.

You can spend all day being mad that something broke.
Or you can ask yourself: what’s the next move?

The city was still there.

And I had options.

I could go home frustrated and let one broken camera decide what kind of day it was.

Or I could remind myself that documenting this city has never been about one camera, one lens, or one perfect plan.

The work was still there waiting on me.

Atlanta was still outside.
The people were still outside.
The moments I came for were still happening whether I was ready or not.

All I had to do was find another way to meet them.

So I grabbed an Uber, went home, picked up my 35mm camera, and came right back to Underground Atlanta.

Because documenting this city has never really been about the camera.

It’s about mindset.
About staying open.
About finding another way when the first way stops working.

There is an Atlanta most people know.

Then there is the Atlanta … for a few days each year in feathers, flags, sweat, bass, and the kind of joy and dancing in the streets reminiscent of freaknik (minus the Atlanta b***y shake music..)

I didn’t know atlanta carnival existed until 2022.

I had spent my whole life in this city and somehow missed it. Missed the way whole islands could rise up in the middle of Atlanta. Missed the way a street could become Trinidad. Jamaica. Barbados. Haiti. A hundred memories stitched together and carried through the city.

I am not Caribbean.

But one thing about this city is that if you stay long enough, if you move through it with your heart open, other people’s stories begin to make a home inside of you.

The first time I stood in the middle of Atlanta Carnival, I realized I was looking at more than a parade.

I was looking at people carrying entire countries on their backs and still finding enough room to dance.

Feathers moving through the heat like prayer.

Flags waving in the same streets where people rush to work on Monday mornings.

Men and women dressed in joy as if joy itself was an act of resistance.

And maybe it is.

For the last five years I’ve documented the carnival the life around it.

The way somebody fixes a costume with careful hands.
The way strangers become family for a day.

At first I thought this body of work needed to move fast.

A book.
An exhibition.
Something to prove that I was there….

But I’m learning that some work asks more of you than speed.

Some work asks for patience.
For years.
For trust.

It asks you to keep returning until the photographs stop being about what you saw and become about what you understand.

So I’ll keep coming back.

Year after year.
Shoutout to all my Caribbean cousins bringing their islands to the heart of Atlanta.

Atlanta, 2026.

Project: Since 1837.

I was born here.
At Grady Memorial to be exact..

So Atlanta has never been abstract to me. When I started sitting with people for this project, something stood out. Many of them weren’t born here.

They came to Atlanta.
Chasing something.
Leaving something behind.
Trying to create something new.

And somehow the city made space for all of it. That’s when I understood what this work needed to become.A living archive of the people who make this city what it is. Because a portrait isn’t only about how someone looks. It’s proof that they were here. That they mattered. That someone slowed down long enough to see them.

Since 1837 is my attempt to document metro Atlanta through the people who give it life.

250 portraits…
A living record of the people who make Atlanta… Atlanta.