About the Exhibition

Welcome to The Man I Saw.

Born from a chance encounter in Madagascar in 2015,
the work has carried itself beyond walls—
moving through streets,
embodied by people,
spoken into conversation.

It arrives here as invitation:
to witness,
to carry forward,
to remember what refuses to be forgotten.

Exhibition Statement

A man with his two Zebu in the sand—
an ordinary moment made extraordinary.

It speaks of walking in one’s own world,
present in existence,
aligned with what is true.

For those far from such ground,
it becomes a reminder of what was broken,
what was carried away,
and what still longs to be seen.

The Zebu, sacred in Malagasy life,
stand as keepers of harmony and memory,
carrying stories of lineage and survival.

Beneath it all rests an undertone of self-discovery—
a return to ancestry,
a search for alignment,
a way of being quietly, wholly, and free.

In 2014, I crossed the Atlantic from the United States for work—
my first time traveling beyond the places I had known since leaving Jamaica in 1992.

That journey opened something in me—
a sense that the world held more than what I had been living.

Soon after, I stepped into the African continent,
and the pull grew stronger with each return.

By 2015, I was in a sand village in Morondava, Madagascar—
my third venture into Africa,
this time for my own photo study.

I wasn’t searching for answers so much as following a quiet pull,
one that kept asking me to look closer.

I had stepped out to photograph a weathered tree stump rising from the sand,
but left disappointed.

When I turned, I saw him—
a man walking barefoot with his two Zebu across the village,
through an open expanse of sand.

Instinctively, I dropped low,
hunkering down like a sniper with my camera.

I lifted the lens quickly,
not wanting to miss the moment.

And as I shot, I saw it all unfold through the glass—
his unshaken steps,
his unhurried pace,
his quiet agreement with the earth.

He never saw me—
only after the moment had passed did I rise
and run to catch up with him.

When I reached him, I showed him the image.
He laughed, and I told him he could be a model—
because in truth, I hadn’t yet processed the fullness of the moment or what it meant.

I only knew it was special.

Before we parted, I made sure he was compensated—
an act of respect, not transaction.

It never felt ordinary,
and it has never left me.

That single encounter became the ground
from which this body of work grew—
a visual representation of what still lives,
even when it feels forgotten.

New York City, New York - "The Man I Saw"

In New York, the work moved through the streets as performance—
carried as if taken,
as if stolen.

The frame became both burden and question,
its quiet harmony colliding with a city built on commerce,
speed,
and reinvention.

Against storefronts and towering brands,
the act unsettled the rhythm of consumption,
asking what it means when presence itself
risks being packaged or erased.

The performance left the question unresolved—
was it stolen,
or has it always been ours,
waiting to be seen again?

Atlanta, GA - "The Man I Saw"

In Atlanta, the work unfolded as performance:
the American flag carried on the body,
faces concealed, marked in red.

The act was neither costume nor disguise,
but a living gesture—part shield, part confrontation.

It pressed a deeper question:
what does it mean to belong to a nation that both claims and denies you?

What does it mean when patriotism itself carries a cost,
when the body is asked to bear what the nation will not?

In a city shaped by both history and possibility,
the act revealed the tension between what is taught and what is true—
between the promise of America and the ancestry it obscures.

The red across the face marked that fracture,
the trace of a violence carried forward in quiet forms.

It leaned not toward resolution, but toward presence:
standing in the open, seen and unseen.

The question left to linger—
what does it mean to walk freely here?

Living Exhibition

Beyond frame and street,
the work moves onto the body.

Not branded fashion,
but presence itself—uninterrupted.

To wear it is to step inside the act:
your body the frame,
your presence the gallery,
your movement the story.

Each piece bears a quiet code, a visible passage,
turning surface into doorway,
self into journey.

Return in Motion

A portion of what is received through this work
is set aside for the man I saw
and for charities in Madagascar.

The story began there,
and it cannot remain one more act of taking.

Plans are in place to return,
to find him again,
and to document that journey—
not as closure,
but as continuation:

the story carried forward,
and returned.

Dwight O. Campbell

Artist Statement

This work began with a chance encounter,
and it changed me.

Through it, I came to see freedom differently—
not as distance,
but as presence.

The man I saw reminded me
that alignment is not something to chase,
but something to remember.

What I carry forward is not solution,
but reflection—
a glimpse of what endures,
of what is already within us.

If the image becomes a mirror,
may it remind us of ground and sky,
of rhythm and root,
of what still lives even when forgotten.

All of this,
I learned from the man I saw.

And so, I offer it here—
not as an answer,

but as a quiet reminder,

still living within us.