For most people that are not native to New Orleans, Mardi Gras can be a time to romp around“Nawlin’s” with no concern for community, tradition, or spirituality. However, since moving to New Orleans 6 year’s ago I have found the exact opposite for myself. She has showed me the magic that has been so deeply rooted here in the swampy South. I am consistently amazed at the plethora of beautiful people that weave the fabric of this community. Furthermore, I have spent my time here weary of bringing my camera out to document traditions I knew very little about. For me personally I felt it was important to commit myself to New Orleans before being able to share New Orleans. That is until this year I was invited to photography a Mardi Gras Indian. For most photographers this can be a huge opportunity to gorge their selves on exploiting the beauty of what lies behind the vibrant feathers and shimmering beads. This is primarily the reason why I have felt a responsibility not to partake in the paparazzi extravaganza. Regardless, this year was different and I humbly took this opportunity as a sign that New Orleans would share with me her soul once again. What I wasn’t prepared for was a story in heritage, motherly love, and a passage of man.