There is a moment I often recall that defines, for me, the ambition and affection that live in equal measure within the work of Andre D. Wagner. We were sitting together in a car, waiting at a stoplight, somewhere in one of the Carolinas, in 2019. A publication had come up with the idea of pairing a writer and a photographer for a week to explore a region of the country, then use whatever was gathered, between them, to tell a story. Wagner and I had never met before doing this assignment together. We’d done fairly well taking turns at the wheel, but on this particular day he had assumed most of the driving duties, a fact I must admit because it makes the moment in question more spectacular.
In the few seconds before the light changed, a group of young Black boys rode up alongside us on motorbikes. They sat piled two per bike, some with their shirts off, delighting in the gentle warmth of autumn on the horizon. Wagner, with one hand on the wheel, getting ready to drive off when the light turned green, aimed his camera toward the kids. And they, previously indifferent to our presence, became even more lively for the camera, throwing their hands up, smiling wide. It was a split second. It felt slow only because the camera existed within it, a vessel that freezes time but which, when in action, can also slow time.
