Reborn Through Ruin: Returning to New York as My True Self
From Scar to Shine: A Rebirth in New York
This mission was never just a difficult project—it was my rebirth. Returning to New York City—the place that first reignited me as a photographer 14 years ago—was my way of shedding the old, scarred self and stepping into someone new, someone determined to shine. I arrived with upgraded gear, refined technique, and a fierce resolve. Many would say it’s impossible to break through to becoming a Fine Art Photographer in a single trip; I traveled with the conviction that if I could succeed there, I could succeed anywhere.
I landed on September 22, 2025, and over four intense days, I walked nearly 60 miles across Manhattan. I only slept in my lodging—there was no downtime. But the heart of my plan was anchored in two visits to Ellis Island: first, the standard Hard Hat tour; second, a private, extended three-hour exploration. Everything else I did in Manhattan was preparation, fuel, rehearsal for those defining hospital days.
Hard Hat Tour, Ellis Island (First Visit)
On the morning of my first Ellis Island visit, I stepped off the ferry into that quiet hospital complex with a hard hat on my head and hope in my heart. The standard Hard Hat tour grants rare access to unrestored wings—wards, kitchens, morgues, contagious wards—and portions of Unframed – Ellis Island, JR’s haunting large-scale portraits pasted onto walls and windows throughout the hospital.
Over 90 minutes, I moved with purpose through dim corridors, peering into peeling rooms, finding texture in broken tile, light through cracked panes. I framed shadows, edges, empty beds, and portraits half consumed by decay. I tried to see as many details as possible before leaving to return to Manhattan—knowing I would come back stronger.
Manhattan in Motion
Between the two Ellis visits, I was all-in on Manhattan. I didn’t climb fire escapes or shoot from rooftops. Everything was on the pavement—sidewalks, alleys, corners, reflections, gritty fragments. I chased subtle light, the interplay of architecture and shadow, the textures of everyday city life. Each image in Manhattan sharpened my visual instincts, primed me for the hospital.
I walked until my feet ached, pushed through fatigue, and held in mind the hospital halls I would return to.
The Three-Hour Deep Dive (Private Hard Hat Tour)
Returning to Ellis Island for that private three-hour session, I entered a deeper threshold. The guide and I traversed all three floors of the hospital complex. He shared stories—of patients, medical practices, JR’s installations, and lost lives.
Because it was private, I was allowed to use a tripod. I composed slow, deliberate exposures: a row of chairs left in a hallway, a cracked mirror reflecting an empty corridor behind me, light beams cutting through dust in silent rooms. I felt the weight of history beneath my feet. As a person who has survived, walking those halls I sensed both fragility and strength, honoring the lives once lived there.
Though the tour was long and intense, the hospital was dry and still—no rain intruded. The silence felt alive. By the end, I left carrying much more than photographs—I carried conviction.
Why Returning to NYC Was Essential
New York isn’t just a location; it’s symbolic ground. Fourteen years ago, that first trip awakened my creative spark. This return was my declaration: I was returning to finish what was started. I wasn’t there simply to capture; I was there to prove. To myself and to others. Through intention, persistence, and vision, I would push into constraint and demand space to shine.
On my site, “Behind the Lens: My Journey into Photography” tells the story of that initial trip. This mission is its spiritual successor—and escalation.
The Rarity & Legitimacy of What I Achieved
I want you to see how rare this is—not to brag, but to honor the path:
- Standard Hard Hat tours are limited to about 90 minutes and cover only selective portions of the hospital complex. Access is reserved, with strict routes and no tripod use.
- Eligibility: Hard Hat tours require you to be at least 13 years old.
- The hospital was closed to the public from about 1954 until 2014; only since then has limited access been restored through guided tours and preservation efforts.
- JR’s Unframed – Ellis Island exhibit spans multiple walls and windows within those hospital halls, weaving art and memory into decay.
- Getting deep access across multiple floors in a private tour is exceptionally rare — few are granted that freedom.
- Heritage galleries—particularly those associated with historical institutions—have extremely high filtering standards: archival quality, historical accuracy, conceptual alignment, and institutional credibility. To be accepted into one is already a scarce achievement. To do it in one trip is nearly unheard of.
- And so, here is the proof: 10 of my images are now preserved in the Save Ellis Island Foundation official gallery—a heritage collection. You can see them here:
https://saveellisisland.org/about-us/gallery.html?chris-wheeler
To have your work incorporated in a heritage gallery is one of the highest validations a fine art photographer can receive, especially so early and in a single mission.
Full Circle, Full Radiance
I returned to New York to write a new chapter. The city that first awakened me now watched me evolve. The scars became stories, the decay became voice, my mission became legacy.
If you haven’t yet, I invite you to read “Behind the Lens: My Journey into Photography.” That origin is the foundation; this NYC mission is the culmination.
This was never just travel or images. It was rebirth. I now carry not only proof that I can create under constraint—but clarity that light always finds way through darkness.
Tommy Chong, JBD & a Poolside Sharpie
October 2020, during COVID. As a lifestyle and event photographer there was no work. So, I was forced to go back to a retail job selling cell phones.
One day while at work, I got a call from Jason Harris—aka Jerome Baker. The last time we chatted was at an event in Las Vegas.
I’d been a fan since I was a teenager, admiring JBD’s legendary Motherships, learning about Jason’s apprenticeship under Bob Snodgrass and how he took the name Jerome Baker as a playful nod to Jerry Garcia and getting baked. I never expected him to call me to photograph him with Tommy Chong.
He explained about his collaboration with Tommy on a 20‑piece limited‑edition Mothership line. Each piece featured an original 1970s Tommy Chong Millie inside a glass marble, came in a signed box, red bandana bong bag, and stash jar and needed a photographer to meet them at Tommy’s house in L.A. to shoot him signing all 20 unfolded boxes. Just thinking about it made my heart pound.
My love affair with JBD began years earlier in San Diego, after moving from Jacksonville when my stepfather was stationed at Marine Corps Air Station Miramar. I saw one of those Mothership bongs with ice catchers and detailed mushroom marbles—jaw‑dropping. I learned Jason trained under Bob Snodgrass, had to first master the challenge of blowing a mushroom inside a marble before Bob would seriously teach him. That mushroom‑in‑a‑marble became Jason’s signature, and Motherships quickly became cult art in the cannabis world.
Fast forward, JBD was the world’s largest bong maker by the late 1990s, earning Cannabis Cups and innovating heady glass. Then came Operation Pipe Dreams in 2003—a $12 million federal operation targeting 55 paraphernalia makers across the nation. Jason got arrested, placed under house arrest, lost assets, and had his business seized. Tommy Chong also got caught up, ending up with nine months in federal prison, the only one among them to do any hard time for selling bongs online through his son’s company Nice Dreams. I hadn’t heard any of that in the media back then; Jason told me later. That shared history eventually became the link that brought them together.
When I got to Tommy’s house after Jason’s initial greeting and setup, there were only five of us: Tommy, Tommy’s son, Jason, a World Poker Tour producer handling video, and myself. Tommy didn’t sit much—he stood and signed all 20 boxes in black Sharpie, one after another with that trademark grin. Those boxes would later hold the two actual bongs we were photographing, the bandana bags and jars ceremonially beside them.
The house was stunning—lush greenery, amazing rugs, walls full of art, and a baby grand piano I recognized from videos. We shot poolside, though we never swam. The vibe was calm but electric and Tommy was welcoming; me—the longtime fan—documenting this bucket‑list moment.
After the signing, Tommy asked if we’d ever heard how he got into comedy and met Cheech. Jason and I shook our heads—no. He lit up and said he had two job offers: construction worker or being the lighting guy at a strip club. He looked at us both and said, “Can you guess which one I picked?” smiling.
Jason and I smiled and said, “The Strip Club!” Tommy with a large grin said “Yeah! I wanted to see boobies!” That line got us all laughing, but he was serious. After working there for a while, the owner needed an MC when the scheduled one flaked, so he asked Tommy if he would be the MC. He was like sure man and started cracking jokes, got laughs, and soon Cheech started showing up.
Cheech & Chong became friends right away and soon they had the whole place laughing out loud. It got to the point where people started coming to see them rather than the girls. So, the owner gave them one day a week. That turned into 3 days a week, then in 1978 Up in Smoke hit the theaters. That became the birth of Cheech & Chong. During this bucket list moment, I realized I needed to capture this amazing story, so I raised my camera and caught one of my favorite shots ever—Tommy mid‑story, hand raised, eyes alive and intense. It felt hypnotic.
As a child I decided I wanted to collect what I call life achievements. You know what I am talking about, the “I have been there and done that’s”. Each life achievement no matter how big or small, they are added. I am honored to add this bucket list life achievement to the list and look forward to many more.
The Time Ice Cube Tweeted My Photo
2019, Southern California – HighTimes Cannabis Cup, one of the biggest cannabis festivals around, and Ice Cube was headlining. As an up-and-coming event photographer, I had my heart set on shooting this show with an official press pass. I started emailing HighTimes six months before the event, politely nudging and introducing myself, hoping they’d see my name enough times to hand me that coveted press credential. Come showtime, however, my inbox was empty – no press pass. I was bummed but not defeated. Thanks to a few friends in the industry, I scored a vendor pass. It wasn’t a ticket to the photo pit or backstage, but at least I wasn’t stuck outside. If I couldn’t shoot from the photo pit, I’d just have to get creative in the crowd.
I arrived early with my gear, determined to turn this near miss into a win. Scoping out the stage setup, I noticed a large sound tent (the covered platform for the audio crew) smack in front of the stage, splitting the audience down the middle. A metal barrier ran from the stage to that sound tent, effectively dividing the crowd into left and right halves. I hatched a plan: grab the front-left corner spot right against that divider. That position put me just left of center stage – a prime angle on Ice Cube’s usual mic stand spot – and gave me a little breathing room to pivot my camera. The catch? I’d have to stand my ground for hours to keep it. No press pass meant no in-and-out privileges or sneaking off backstage; if I left my spot, I’d never get it back.
So I planted myself at the barricade in the late afternoon, camera in hand. I’d done long waits at concerts before, but this was next level. Four hours on my feet, no bathroom breaks. I had rationed out two bottles of water and a granola bar in my backpack – essentially my survival kit for the evening. By hour two, my legs were stiff, and my back was sore, but I wasn’t budging. As the sun started to set, more attendees packed in behind me, jostling for a view. I was literally guarding my turf with elbows out. A few early performers hit the stage, and I passed the time snapping photos of their sets and making small talk with the die-hard Cube fans pressed in next to me. Each act that finished was one step closer to the main event. The growing energy of the crowd helped the hours tick by faster, and my initial bitterness about the press pass began to fade, replaced by a jittery excitement for what was coming.
About two acts before Ice Cube, I had a eureka moment that made the whole crazy wait worth it. I remembered the unspoken “first three songs” rule in concert photography: big performers often only allow press photographers in the pit for the first three songs of the set. After that, security shoos them away, and the rest of the show is camera-free (at least for the pros). That meant all those lucky photographers with the access I’d wanted would soon be cleared out. But not me. I was on the audience side of the barricade, essentially a fan with a nice camera – nobody could kick me out for shooting. Realizing this, I felt a surge of vindication. The very limitation that had me stuck in one spot for half the day was about to become my secret advantage. I grinned to myself thinking, “They’ll get their three-song gallery, and I’ll get the whole Ice Cube show.”
At long last, the lights dimmed and a familiar West Coast bass line rumbled through the speakers. It was time. “Are you ready for Ice Cube?” the MC shouted. The crowd roared in one giant wave of sound, and I steadied my camera. Ice Cube burst onto the stage, full of energy, flanked by hype men and engulfed in machine-made fog. The massive LED screen behind him lit up with visuals – at one point showing an image of President Trump’s face – as Cube launched into his set. I could feel the crowd surging and screaming behind me, but I was in my own world, clicking away. For those first three songs, the photo pit in front of me was a frenzy of photographers jostling for shots of the legend in action. I stretched up on my toes at times, shooting over the heads of the pit photographers, making every frame count.
Three songs flew by in what felt like thirty seconds. Sure enough, I saw the security start to wave the press photographers out of the pit. One by one, reluctantly, they lowered their cameras and shuffled away to the side gates. And just like that, I was the only pro camera left at the front of the stage. I glanced around – all the other big lenses were now far back or gone. A warm thrill ran up my spine. I wasn’t backstage, I wasn’t official, but I’d effectively outmaneuvered the system. Ice Cube owned the stage, and I owned my little corner of it from the crowd.
Cube was mid-set, pouring sweat and hyping up tens of thousands of fans. He prowled from one end of the stage to the other, commanding the audience with old N.W.A. anthems and solo hits. When he got to a politically charged segment, the giant LED screen behind him flashed an image of Donald Trump’s face. Ice Cube seized the moment, marched up to the very edge of the stage – right in front of my lens – and lead the crowd in a chant: “Fuck Trump! Fuck Trump!” he yelled with a defiant grin. The place exploded. The roar of approval from behind was deafening, and Cube’s own voice boomed through giant stacks of speakers… yet I heard none of it. In that instant I experienced something extraordinary: the world around me went completely silent. All the sound, the crowd, the chaos – it was like someone hit the mute button on reality. I was peering through my viewfinder at a once-in-a-lifetime shot unfolding, and nothing else existed. My finger pressed the shutter in rapid succession, but I swear it felt like slow motion. The only thing I was aware of was the frame in front of me – Ice Cube framed against a haze of smoke and vibrant light, the raw emotion on his face while he is screaming into the mic and a provocative image of Donald Trump on the screen behind him.
Only later would I have words to explain what happened in that moment. I learned it’s called hyperfocus – that state of complete absorption where you tune out everything else. Some people describe it as a kind of dissociative tunnel vision, where you’re so locked in that you become temporarily deaf to the outside world. For me, a Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) patient, it was a familiar feeling taken to a new extreme – as if my mind’s ability to disconnect turned into my superpower for photography. In that hyperfocused flow, I didn’t have to think about camera settings or elbow room or anything at all. My instincts and training took over completely. It felt less like taking a photo and more like the image painted itself onto my sensor. When I finally let myself breathe again, Ice Cube had moved on across the stage, the moment had passed – but I knew I’d just captured something special on my memory card.
The show wrapped up in a blaze of energy and encores. I was exhausted, hungry, and my feet were killing me, but I was elated. On the car ride home, I kept scrolling through my camera, zooming in on that one shot – the “Fuck Trump” shot – marveling at how it all came together. A part of me was still salty about missing out on the official press pass, but that photo (and the experience behind it) felt like poetic justice. I posted the image on my Instagram the next morning, tagging Ice Cube. It got a bit of love from my followers – a lot of comments and the usual high-fives – but it didn’t exactly break the internet. Life moved on, other gigs came and went, and honestly, I pretty much forgot about the HighTimes Cup in the whirlwind of the next year.
Fast forward almost two years. One day I decided to log into my long-neglected Twitter account (I had basically grabbed the handle @Fotobudz back in the day and then ghosted it). Notifications immediately started popping up – way more than the zero I expected. What on earth…? As I started digging, my jaw hit the floor. Ice Cube had tweeted out my photo. Yes, that photo – him on stage screaming Fuck Trump – and he had given me a photo credit in the tweet. I had to blink a few times to make sure I wasn’t imagining it. There was my image, now blasted out to millions of Cube’s followers, with a little “@Fotobudz” tucked in the corner of the tweet. I think I let out a very undignified squeal. I was equal parts stunned and thrilled. Two years ago, I was a nobody with a pro camera stuck in the crowd; now one of the rap legends I grew up idolizing had hand-picked my shot to share with his audience.
The tweet had garnered a storm of reactions. This was during the heat of political tensions, and let’s just say not everyone on Twitter was a fan of the message. I scrolled through the replies – some cheering, many angry or profane. Both Ice Cube and I got our fair share of internet hate from that tweet. (Apparently, not everyone enjoys a “Fuck Trump” sentiment, who knew?) I even saw one reply calling me out by name, ranting about the photo. I wish I’d screenshotted some of those wild comments, but I was too busy laughing and shaking with excitement to think of it. Haters be damned, I was over the moon. In the chaotic world of Twitter, I’d earned a tiny sliver of infamy by association, and more importantly, a huge personal victory. Ice Cube giving me a shout-out felt like a trophy I didn’t even know I’d won.
Looking back now, that HighTimes Cannabis Cup taught me more than any VIP pass ever could. I learned about patience and grit (try holding your bladder for four hours in a throng of concert-goers!). I learned how a seeming setback can flip into an advantage if you play it right. I discovered the thrill and value of my hyperfocus – that intense state of mind where my passion and my dissociative tendencies intersect to shut out the world and let me create. That self-discovery was huge: recognizing this trait not only improved my photography going forward, but also became a clue in decoding my own mind. That night was one stepping stone on the path that led to me finally understanding and accepting my diagnosis of DID – something I’d lived with unknowingly for years (later to be officially diagnosed in February of 2025). By embracing that part of me instead of fighting it, I’ve been able to channel it into art and healing, rather than let the stigma or fear push people (or myself) away.
And perhaps the biggest lesson: never give up. I didn’t get the press credentials I wanted, but I showed up anyway and ended up with a shot that none of the “approved” photographers captured. Even though it took two years to see the payoff, it came in a way I couldn’t have imagined – with Ice Cube himself sharing my work. You truly never know what’s around the next corner in this crazy journey. Sometimes you eat the granola bar and endure the wait. Sometimes you get the shot against the odds. And if you keep at it, sometimes the universe (or an Ice Cube tweet) pays you back in spades.
The Day I Met Mike Tyson
An Unexpected Call from KushCo
In 2018, I got one of those career-changing calls. A major cannabis company, KushCo Holdings, reached out to me out of the blue. (This was a big name in the field – they would later rebrand a key division as Kush Supply Co. in 2018 and merge with Greenlane Holdings in 2021, becoming part of an industry powerhouse.) They told me they’d been following my photography for some time and wanted to hire me to photograph their CEO at various events and meetings. It was thrilling to know that my work had caught the eye of such a prominent company, and I jumped at the opportunity.
For these corporate events, I go with a lifestyle photography approach. I focus less on formal portraits and more on capturing authentic, candid moments. In other words, I aim to photograph people in a natural way that feels like the “day in the life” of whoever I am photographing.
This style lets me showcase the CEO in a more intimate, relatable light, giving viewers a genuine glimpse into his world rather than just staged images.
Over the next several months, my work with KushCo became consistent. I found myself shooting all kinds of content for them – covering conventions, snapping behind-the-scenes shots of their production operations and documenting their internal events. I photographed everything from company picnics to fun in-house projects, always aiming to capture the real energy and story of each moment. This ongoing collaboration not only sharpened my event photography skills, but also built a strong trust between me and the client.
On Assignment at MJBizCon Las Vegas
After working with KushCo for a while, they handed me a particularly exciting assignment: covering their massive booth at MJBizCon in Las Vegas. MJBizCon – still relatively new at the time – is the largest cannabis business convention in the country, held at the Las Vegas Convention Center. Think of tens of thousands of people, endless exhibits, and an electric atmosphere buzzing with opportunity. I was thrilled; not only would I be photographing my client’s booth, but I’d also get to soak in the energy of the biggest event in the industry.
I arrived at the convention center and spent the day capturing the vibe and action at KushCo’s busy booth. My job was to document everything: the crowds swirling by, the team engaging with visitors, the branded swag on display, and the genuine interactions that happened there. While I was hard at work, the team pulled me aside with another request: there was an after-party that night, and they wanted me to cover it. It wasn’t just any party – it was the Dope Magazine After Party, which KushCo was sponsoring as part of the conference. My task would be to swing by the after-party venue and get photos of people enjoying themselves with KushCo’s swag in the mix, capturing the more relaxed, celebratory side of the event.
Prepping for the After-Party
If there’s one thing I absolutely love photographing, it’s an after-party. The reason? After-parties are challenging in the best way. They typically happen in low-light, high-energy environments – a real test of a photographer’s skill and adaptability. Rather than being intimidated by dark venues or flashing club lights, I get a thrill from figuring out how to make great images in those conditions. It’s like a fast-paced game where the lighting is tricky, but the moments are raw and real.
Knowing the challenges, I made sure to show up early to the after-party location. In fact, I always arrive as early as I can for events like this. Getting there early gives me a chance to scout the space before it fills up with people. I walked through the venue taking mental notes: where could I position myself for the best angles? How was the ambient light near the stage versus by the bar? Were there any cool backdrops or neon signs I could use creatively? I tested out different camera settings and flash setups in various spots around the room. By the time guests would be pouring in, I wanted to know exactly how my camera would respond in each corner of that place. This kind of preparation is crucial because once the party is in full swing, you often have to make split-second decisions. If you’ve already identified some great vantage points and dialed in your settings for the tricky lighting, you’re ahead of the game. In short, knowing your shots beforehandcan make all the difference when the action is happening fast.
As I was roaming around the empty venue, soaking in the vibe and getting my bearings, I bumped into a friendly gentleman who was also there early. To kill time before things kicked off, we struck up a conversation. We talked “shop” about the cannabis industry – sharing stories of different projects we’d been part of, comparing notes on companies we’d worked with. It was a relaxed, easygoing chat between two people who clearly had a passion for the industry. I wasn’t in photographer mode at that moment; I was just another professional enjoying a friendly pre-event conversation.
After a few minutes, I came to learn that this wasn’t just any guest I was chatting with – he was actually the head organizer of the after-party. He was the guy running the whole show that night! I was a bit surprised (and impressed) that he was so down-to-earth and had taken the time to talk with me so casually. Apparently, I had made a good impression on him during our conversation, because he soon leaned in with a grin and shared a little secret that nearly made my jaw drop.
A Chance Encounter with a Legend
The organizer told me, almost conspiratorially, “We’ve got Mike Tyson coming through tonight.” I almost didn’t believe I heard that correctly. Mike Tyson? The legendary boxer, former heavyweight champion of the world, and a pop culture icon – that Mike Tyson? Before I could even confirm, the organizer continued, saying that Tyson was indeed expected to make an appearance at the party as a special guest.
He then gave me an offer (more like a directive) I’ll never forget he said that as long as I promised not to “fanboy” over Tyson – meaning I had to keep my cool and act professional – he would bring me into the room with Mike so I could photograph him for the event sponsors. I felt a surge of adrenaline. Here I was, a photographer who grew up watching Mike Tyson, now being told I might get a private moment to photograph the man up close. My head was spinning with excitement, but I knew I had to play it smooth.
Immediately, I assured him with a smile, “Don’t worry, I won’t fanboy. If I was the type to “Fan Boy”, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you like this.” He laughed, seeming satisfied with that answer. We shook hands on it. “Cool,” he said. “When Tyson shows up, I’ll come get you.” I thanked him, trying to contain the huge grin on my face.
As he walked off to continue his preparations, I remember standing there in the empty venue thinking, Did that really just happen? I’ve been around long enough to know that sometimes people promise things in the hype of the moment that don’t always pan out. In the back of my mind, I reminded myself not to get too excited until it actually happened. Over the years I’d heard a few “I’ll get you in, don’t worry” stories that never materialized. Sometimes the VIP access falls through, or plans change last minute, so I kept my expectations tempered. Hope for the best but prepare for nothing, I told myself.
Still, the prospect of meeting and photographing Mike Tyson had my nerves buzzing. I went back to focusing on my work — checking my camera batteries, reviewing my shot list, making sure all my lenses were clean — but I also kept one eye on the door at all times. I didn’t want to miss even a hint that Tyson had arrived or that my new friend was coming back for me.
The Moment Mike Tyson Arrived
The party had started to fill up and I was busy doing my thing: snapping candids of people laughing, taking photos of the KushCo logo on T-shirts and swag as attendees enjoyed the night, and generally capturing the high-energy atmosphere. In the midst of shooting a group photo, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around, and it was the organizer again. Over the thumping music, he shouted, “It’s time! Tyson’s about 10–15 minutes out.
Let’s get you in position.” My heart jumped. This is it!
He led me away from the main party, towards a more secluded press conference area in the venue. As we walked, I realized I had gone completely quiet – I was speechless with anticipation during that whole walk. My mind was racing with preparations: I still didn’t know what the room’s lighting would be like, so I was mentally running through different scenarios. Would there be a stage with a spotlight? A small room with fluorescents? Will there be a backdrop? I thought about my camera settings: Is my ISO high enough? What Shutter speed settings will be needed? Will I need my flash? I double-checked everything on my camera as we arrived at the designated room. I knew opportunities like this are one-shot deals – you either get the shot or you don’t, and there are no do-overs in celebrity moments. I reminded myself that it’s okay to overshoot, but I had to do it smartly, adjusting on the fly to nail the exposure and focus. There was no room for error.
Thanks to the organizer’s help, I was the first photographer allowed into the room. It was a medium-sized conference room that had been set up for a press meet. The press area had a white wall for the backdrop and a Dope Magazine neon light for Mike Tyson to stand in front of. I quickly scanned the area where Tyson would be standing and chose my spot: slightly off-center from where he is to stand. From there I could capture multiple angles, straight-on shots of him, but also some side angles if he turned or if there was any interaction. I checked the lighting and took a couple of test shots of the empty area.
Within minutes, the room started to buzz as other media people and VIPs were let in. A camera crew set up on one side, and a handful of other photographers lined up alongside me. There was that electric hum of excitement that precedes a big entrance. Then, suddenly, a hush fell over the room. Mike Tyson had entered. He walked in flanked by a small entourage, and for a moment all I could think was how surreal this was – Mike Tyson, the legend himself, right here in front of my lens! He exuded a kind of quiet intensity; the entire room seemed to pause as he made his way toward the press area, almost as if people were holding their breath out of respect and awe.
I snapped into action and captured the moment he came through the door: a few quick shots of Tyson striding in, the light catching the unmistakable profile of his face and that famous tattoo. Flashbulbs started popping from different corners of the room, and the TV cameras whirred to life. After grabbing those initial shots, I took a step back. I had learned something important from previous gigs: when photographing a celebrity, sometimes less is more in those first moments. I had my entrance photos, and the press conference would provide more opportunities. Rather than machine-gunning a million photos of him walking (like some paparazzi might), I set my camera down for a minute and just observed.
Keeping My Cool Beside “Iron Mike”
What happened next is something I’ll remember forever. The press conference hadn’t started yet, and there was a brief lull as the host was arranging some details. By pure chance, Mike Tyson ended up standing just a few feet away from me, off to the side, as we both waited for things to begin. It was just Tyson, myself, and a couple of his team members in that little corner of the room. My heart was pounding – here I was, shoulder-to-shoulder with one of the greatest boxers of all time! But I also remembered the golden rule I’d promised to follow: No fanboy behavior.This was the moment that rule really mattered.
I had already tested my angles and lighting, and I knew my camera settings were solid. So, I left my camera resting on its strap at my side and did not raise it. I stood there calmly, hands relaxed, even though every part of me was excited. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tyson glance in my direction. I imagine he’s used to any photographer near him immediately shoving a camera in his face, even in off-moments. But I didn’t. I just gave him some space. I wanted him to know I respected him as a person, not just as a photo subject.
I could actually see the effect of that small gesture: Tyson’s shoulders loosened up and he exhaled, almost as if he was relieved. In that subtle nod and exhale, I sensed an appreciation – he seemed to silently say, “Thanks for not treating me like a zoo animal.” It’s something I’ve learned through experience: celebrities value a bit of respect and normalcy. Yes, they know cameras will be on them when they’re on stage or on the red carpet, but if you show them that you’re not going to hound them incessantly, they often respond positively. In this case, a little restraint on my part earned a moment of genuine human connection.
Now, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fighting an inner fanboy during those seconds. Inside my head, a younger version of me was jumping up and down screaming, “Oh my god, that’s Mike Tyson! Say something! This is insane!” But I kept it cool externally. Still, I felt I had to acknowledge the moment in a respectful way — I mean, how often does life put you next to a legend like this? So, I simply looked over to him, met his eyes for a second and gave a little nod. “What’s up, Mike?” I said, casual and friendly, as if I was greeting any other person at an event. Nothing fawning, nothing obnoxious. Just a normal hello.
Tyson looked at me — for a split second I wondered if I’d made a mistake by speaking — but then he nodded back. “What’s up,” he replied, just as casual, in that distinct voice the whole world would recognize. A simple, one-two exchange. And that was it. I didn’t press for an autograph, didn’t ask any fan questions. We both turned our attention back to the press area as the conference kicked off a minute later. But let me tell you, inside I was doing a little victory dance.
A Bucket-List Experience
The rest of the event went by in a flash. I snapped plenty more photos once the press conference began. But those few minutes before the cameras officially started flashing are what stayed with me. That quick, genuine “what’s up” exchange with Mike Tyson stands out as one of the coolest moments of my life.
It’s funny, because on the surface it was such a simple interaction – just a hello between two people. But to me, it meant the world. It was validation of my professional approach: by staying composed and respectful, I was treated with respect in return, even by a larger-than-life figure. I wasn’t just some photographer in the crowd; for that moment, I felt like an equal human being sharing a mutual nod with a legend.
As a kid who grew up admiring Tyson’s ferocity in the ring, I never imagined I’d one day meet him – let alone be photographing him and sharing a moment of mutual respect. Walking out of that room after the press event, I had to take a second to pinch myself. Did that all really happen? I had to grin because I knew that I’d just checked off a huge item on my bucket list.
In this line of work, you never know where an assignment will lead. One week you’re shooting a corporate picnic, and the next you’re saying hello to a world-famous boxing champion because you kept your cool at the right time. This experience reinforced why I love what I do: photography has been my passport to incredible moments and interesting people. Behind the lens, I’ve seen urban decay turned into art, I’ve witnessed personal healing journeys, and now, I’ve even met a sports icon on a random night in Vegas. Each shutter click tells a story, and this particular story – of preparation meeting opportunity – is one I’ll cherish forever.
So there you have it. The night I met Mike Tyson, with a camera in my hand and a promise not to fanboy in my heart, turned out to be truly unforgettable. And yes, I got the shots! (Don’t worry, I made sure to take a few moments later to properly geek out in private.)
Every time I look at those photos of Tyson that I captured, I’m reminded that sometimes the coolest victories are the quiet, personal ones: keeping your composure, earning someone’s respect, and realizing you’ve just lived through a moment you’ll tell stories about for years to come. This was absolutely a behind-the-lens adventure I’ll never forget, and a shining highlight of my journey as a photographer.
Epically Unexpected Day in Vegas
Late August 2017 – Las Vegas.
The city buzzed with fight-week chaos. Floyd Mayweather versus Conor McGregor at T-Mobile Arena — “The Money Fight,” boxing legend against MMA champion. I drove in two days early with my camera, chasing the energy around the event.
Fight day, I hit the arena early. Vegas heat beating down, fans were swarming, Irish/ Money Team flags waving and street vendors hustling. I grabbed myself a souvenir sweat towel and wandered the scene. Nothing unique, just crowds, hype and me a little bummed I couldn’t get inside.
That’s when my phone rang! It was a friend from the cannabis industry. She asked me, “What are you doing right now?” voice buzzing. I told her I was outside T-Mobile Arena. She replied, “Get over here, “Now”. I have a surprise.” No details. Just urgency. Knowing her it had to be epic.
I found her in a retail strip mall. She was grinning like she knew the future, standing beside her was a tall man. She hugged me, then introduced us:
“Chris Wheeler — Fotobudz.”
“Big Percy,” he said, shaking my hand.
I didn’t recognize the name — I wasn’t deep into music back then — my friend looked at me like I’d been living under a rock. “Snoop Dogg’s manager,” she whispered. “He’s worked with everyone — Warren G, Tha Dogg Pound, Wiz Khalifa…”
Instant respect. Even before I knew who he was, I could feel Percy’s vibe: cool, grounded, no ego. We talked photography, the fight, the grind of chasing shots.
Then he checked his watch. “I gotta roll. You two should come.”
No explanation. Just that sly grin.
We followed him to the MGM Grand, slipping through a side entrance, corridors rumbling with crowd noise. Percy stopped at double doors and finally revealed the surprise: Ice Cube’s Big3 basketball inaugural season championship — we are here to watch the final quarter.
Doors swung open — arena lights, deafening cheers, retired NBA legends going at it like it was Game 7. Trilogy in red versus 3 Headed Monsters in green. We were maybe five rows from the court. I snapped a few shots but mostly soaked it in.
Trilogy won 51–46. Confetti rained as the buzzer sounded. Suddenly we were on the court, stepping over streamers and shaking hands with players. Less than two hours earlier, I’d been wandering outside T-Mobile, disappointed. Now I was standing center court in championship chaos.
Outside afterward, I thanked Percy and my friend a dozen times. He laughed: “We’re not done yet.”
Process
The next stop: a house party to watch Mayweather-McGregor. Not just any house — an actor’s home, packed with retired NBA players and West Coast music royalty. The vibe was low-key but electric: catered food, coolers of drinks, a flat-screen tuned to the fight. I stayed cool, years of photography taught me blending in beats fanboying every time.
When the main event started, the room came alive. Every jab, every miss, only drew cheers or curses. I shot candid’s — faces mid-yell, hands in the air, Big Percy leaning forward in anticipation. McGregor surprised early; Mayweather closed late. TKO in the 10th, 50–0 record intact. The living room erupted.
After the fight was over, I wanted to use the trick on Big Percy. I walked over while he sat in a chair and asked if I could take his photo. He said, “sure.” I told him what I wanted him to say; he smiled and looked at me funny.
I told him the method behind the madness, and he smiled again. So, I asked him again to tell me to “Go Fuck Myself.” This time I got the look like; I am not saying that (humorously). I caught on without him having to say anything. I told him, “You don’t have to say it out loud. It works the same if you say it in your head”. He smiled acceptingly, so I grabbed my camera and quickly said, “I am paparazzi, tell me to go fuck myself! He lifted his hand with the middle finger raised and a small joint rolled in his fingers, “Click!”
That shot — later converted to black and white — became one of my favorite captures. Raw, real, perfect.
Midnight bled into after-party hours. We rolled up to a strip-mall venue transformed into a West Coast hip-hop throwdown. The lineup: Kurupt, Tha Alkaholiks, LBC Movement and more. The crowd was thick, bass thumping, weed smoke hanging heavy. My all-access wristband got me front row, backstage and access to wherever I wanted.
I shot everything: Tha Alkaholiks bouncing, LBC spitting raw verses, the crowd throwing West Coast signs. It was gritty and intimate, nothing like a polished arena show. Backstage was chaos — laughter, smoke, jars of Moonrock passed around like trophies.
I wanted a close-up photo of Kurupt, I searched all over until I found his green room. As soon as I walked in, I hear someone bark, “If you don’t belong here, get the fuck out!” Instinct took over: I slipped into a corner chair, stayed quiet, acted like I belonged. The door closes and I start shooting candid photos of Kurupt and his crew from my chair.
Then someone shouted, “Yo, camera man — group photo!” Suddenly I was rearranging furniture, directing a room full of rap legends. Kurupt front and center, Moonrock jars raised high. Flashes and laughter broke out. The shots were gold.
By the time we left, dawn was breaking. My feet were wrecked, ears ringing, adrenaline still spiking. I collapsed in bed replaying the day:
Morning — wandering outside an arena.
Afternoon — on a championship court.
Night — watching Mayweather make history with legends.
Late night — backstage with Kurupt, photographing hip-hop royalty.
None of it planned. Every door led to another. Camera in hand, I just kept saying yes.
Even years later, that day feels unreal — a reminder that the wildest stories come when you stay open to chaos. I never know where the camera will take me next, and that’s the best part. Wherever it leads, I’ll be ready — finger on the shutter, soaking it all in.
Vegas Wing King + Discovery Channel's Food Paradise
September 2017 – Las Vegas.
We left Beaumont in the dead of night, chasing a wild opportunity east to Las Vegas. My wife rode shotgun as we sped through the Mojave darkness, camera gear piled in the backseat. We planned to drive there and back in one day—a crazy 8-hour round trip—but nothing was going to keep me from this. Wing King, the undisputed king of Vegas wings, had called with an invitation I couldn’t refuse: Discovery Channel’s Food Paradise was filming at his new restaurant, and he wanted me to shoot behind the scenes. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and I was all in.
I’d been Wing King’s unofficial photographer for about a year—after his reggae-booking days and before the 100-flavor madness took over Vegas. We clicked fast. By pure timing and a little luck, I ended up backstage with Fortunate Youth and photographing a private set with Raging Fyah. When I was with the Wing King, he always gave me these opportunities. Those nights—bass thumping, crowds swaying—taught me how to trap raw energy in a single frame. He trusted my eye, I trusted his gut. So when he said, “Get to Vegas, they’re filming my spot for TV,” I didn’t blink. I grabbed my camera, grabbed my wife, and we hit the road before dawn.
By late morning, we rolled into Las Vegas, bleary-eyed but buzzing on adrenaline. We exited the freeway far from the Strip, pulling up to Wing King’s new standalone restaurant off Fort Apache Road. Outside, a banner screamed “Over 100 Flavors!” and the parking lot was jammed. Inside, the atmosphere hit me in the face – equal parts restaurant and rock concert. The lunch crowd and a handful of eager extras packed the booths, grooving to a reggae playlist humming through the speakers. The walls were plastered with colorful murals and music memorabilia (Wing King’s nod to his island and music roots), and the mouthwatering scent of frying wings and spices wafted from the open kitchen. In the middle of it all was Wing King himself, grinning ear to ear, moving between the TV crew and his customers with infectious energy. He wore a sauce-splattered apron and an air of proud excitement. This was his moment, and he was determined to make it unforgettable.
As the film crew set up, I slipped in among them with my camera, ready to document the behind-the-scenes magic. We quickly found a rhythm. The Food Paradise director gave me a quick nod of approval – we’d coordinate so I could get my shots without disrupting theirs. Huge cameras glided around the dining room, and I shadowed their movements, careful to stay out of the frame. When the host did a retake of an “arrival” scene, I crouched just behind the camera operator, snapping a candid of her excited smile. During breaks, I chatted with the videographers about lighting and angles, coordinating my timing so my shutter clicks wouldn’t ruin their audio. It was a delicate dance but thrilling – I wasn’t just a bystander; for that day, I was part of the team.
Wing King had curated a whole lineup of stunts and segments for the show. First up: showcasing his wild menu. I watched as he proudly laid out some of his craziest wing creations for the camera – a platter of savory wings tossed in a brown sugar bourbon rub, another dusted in a Cool Ranch Doritos-inspired seasoning, and even a batch of “dessert” wings that smelled like strawberry cheesecake. The Food Paradise host’s eyes went wide at the spread. When Wing King mentioned he could even infuse wings with cannabis – CBD or THC oil drizzled on top for an extra kick – the host let out a “No way!” and Wing King just winked. (Only in Vegas can you find weed-infused chicken wings on the menu, and Wing King was proud to be the first.)
Then came the grand event: the Spicy Wing Challenge. This was Wing King’s coup de grâce – a gauntlet of heat he’d become locally famous for. He called it the “Hell Wing Challenge,” and for good reason. A server brought out a basket of his infamous Hell Wings, and even from a few feet away my eyes stung from the peppers. The wings were drenched in a sinister red sauce made from a 9-million-Scoville extract (for comparison, a ghost pepper is ‘only’ about 1 million). Participants had to sign a waiver and don latex gloves just to try them. The unlucky (or fearless) soul who volunteered for the camera was already sweating before the first bite.
The restaurant fell quiet as the challenger braced himself and the cameras zoomed in. Wing King stood by with a devilish grin, “Three, two, one… go!” The poor guy tore into the first wing and within seconds his face turned bright red. The crowd erupted in cheers and groans. I could see tears welling up in his eyes as the heat kicked in. He powered through two, three wings – hands trembling, sauce smeared on his cheeks (the camera crew loved that). By wing number four, he was openly weeping and frantically sucking in air. My shutter clicked rapidly, capturing the entire dramatic arc: his confident start, the moment the pain hit and The Wing King laughing and encouraging him, equal parts amusement and horror. The 9-million-Scoville “hell sauce” lived up to its name; even the camera crew looked a little staggered by the intensity of it. In the end, our challenger tapped out before reaching the dozen wings. Wing King patted him on the back as the crowd gave a good-natured ovation. “Give it up for him, folks!” he yelled, handing the guy the milk. The brave participant was red-faced and exhausted, but grinning – he had survived hell, and he’d done it on national TV.
With the spicy spectacle over, filming began winding down. The crew grabbed some final B-roll of the restaurant: close-ups of saucy wings being tossed in the bowl, shots of customers laughing over platters of food, and a short interview with Wing King at a table. This was more than publicity; it was validation of a dream. Between takes, he came over to my wife & I and threw a sweat-soaked, wing-sauce hug around me. “Can you believe this, bro?!” he exclaimed, eyes shining. I could hardly get words out – I just laughed and shook my head. I was proud – of him, of how far we’d both come, and honored to be there to freeze this moment for him. “Thank you for coming out,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” I replied truthfully.
As late afternoon approached, the Discovery crew packed up their gear and the restaurant began to calm down. The floor was littered with napkins and the echoes of an eventful day. We lingered a bit, saying our goodbyes. My wife and I stepped outside to a Las Vegas sunset painting the sky orange and purple. We were bone-tired and still had a four-hour drive home ahead, but in that moment, my heart was full. I loaded my camera gear into the car, feeling like I had just captured lightning in a bottle. As we pulled onto the highway, leaving the neon glow of Vegas in the rearview mirror, I remember my wife reaching over to squeeze my hand. We were exhausted, yes, but more than that, we were elated – buzzing from the energy of the day and the sheer improbability of what we’d just been a part of.
Seshes to All Access: My Highlife Music Festival Adventure
In 2016, I was juggling real estate photography by day and chasing my passion for cannabis culture by night. I launched @Fotobudz on Instagram to keep my cannabis work separate, documenting Southern California's underground seshes—those wild, pre-legalization pop-ups full of smoke, music, and community. Each event sharpened my eye and expanded my network, but I knew it was time to level up.
That moment came when I bought a VIP ticket to the High Life Music Festival—a full-blown cannabis and hip-hop celebration at the San Bernardino County Fairgrounds. The lineup was stacked: Rick Ross, Waka Flocka Flame, and my personal icons, Bone Thugs-n-Harmony. I didn’t have a press pass. I had no guarantee of access. But I had my camera, a VIP wristband, and a burning need to shoot something bigger.
Around the same time, I saw a Craigslist post from Weedmaps looking for a freelance photographer. I scraped together a DIY studio using cabinet doors, construction paper, and table lamps, shot a mock product session with a Weedmaps hat and vape pen, and sent it in. Then I forgot about it—until I received an email that changed everything. Weedmaps wanted to interview me.
At their Irvine office, I met the team, showed my work, and landed the job. I was now photographing dispensaries across the Inland Empire for one of the biggest names in the industry. Then came the twist: I was sent to shoot a dispensary—which turned out to be the organizers of the very festival I’d bought a ticket to. I kept things professional, proved myself over a few visits, and finally asked the question: could I shoot the event?
They said yes. And just like that, I went from ticket holder to all-access press. I packed my gear, and prepped for the biggest gig of my life.
On event day, I showed up early. Vendors were setting up, the desert sun was beating down, and the crowd was buzzing. My pass opened every door—no lines, full access, and unrestricted photography rights. I networked with vendors, shot the festival grounds, and captured the 4:20 celebration in all its hazy glory.
As night fell and the crowd surged toward the stage, I chatted with security. One guard clued me in on some tips, understandings, and more importantly, how to get on stage. Waka Flocka, Rick Ross and Bone Thugs—I was in the pits, photographing each act from angles I never thought I’d reach. The energy, the lights, the music—it was everything I’d dreamed of shooting.
But the night wasn’t over. With my pass, I found my way backstage. There they were: Bizzy Bone, Wish Bone, Chanel West Coast, just hanging out by the trailers. I didn’t lead with my camera. I lit a joint, kept it casual, and melted into the vibe. Once the moment felt right, I raised my camera and started shooting.
Chanel threw up duck lips. Bizzy posed back-to-back with a friend. I fired off a few frames in tough lighting, praying the shots landed. They did and I left floating—not just from the joint, but from the moment.
That night taught me everything: the value of betting on yourself, of staying ready, of building relationships that matter. I went from warehouse seshes to an A-list music festival with a camera and a plan. That was the day Fotobudz stopped being a side hustle and became my story.
From underground to backstage, I found my place—behind the lens, exactly where I was meant to be.
Behind the Lens: My Journey into Photography
Photography isn’t a job or a hustle—it’s my lifeline. I don’t have to take photos; I get to.
My story with a camera began when I was nine years old in Jacksonville, Florida, during a time when my world was collapsing. Abuse fractured my mind and Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) became the mechanism that helped me survive. In the middle of that chaos, a disposable film camera became my safe place. I’d mow lawns and do odd jobs just to buy more. Every click of the shutter was a small act of control in a life that felt out of control. I was drawn to cracked sidewalks, faded walls, rusting fences—anything that mirrored the mix of beauty and brokenness I felt inside. Those early snapshots were the first steps in my healing, a way to speak without speaking.
When my family moved to San Diego for my stepfather’s Marine Corps transfer, I documented the cross-country drive, chasing new landscapes through the car window. But once we settled, the abuse intensified. My quiet refuge behind the camera gave way to anger and rebellion. For years, my camera sat untouched, my creativity silenced as I focused on surviving each day.
Everything changed decades later, on a trip to Queens, New York. My cousin, a passionate street photographer, showed me her images of the city—raw, alive and electric. Something in me cracked open. With a small $300 point-and-shoot I’d bought on a whim, I started walking the streets, averaging 50 blocks a day for over a week. I chased the glow of skyscrapers at dusk, graffiti-splashed alleys, and the restless blur of yellow cabs. I was in a trance, feeling joy I hadn’t touched in years.
Back in California, I shared those images, and the reaction was overwhelming. They truly loved the images. That encouragement lit a fire. I bought my first DSLR, a Nikon D3300, and dove headfirst into learning. I devoured tutorials, studied compositions, and discovered my love for juxtaposition—light vs. dark, decay vs. life. Without realizing it, I was rebuilding my artistic voice one frame at a time.
The name “Fotobudz” came next—a playful blend of “photo” and “buds”—and it quickly became more than an Instagram handle. It was my artistic identity. I gravitated toward “Time-Lost” places—abandoned in the eyes of others but still breathing history. I made it my mission to find beauty in decay and light in darkness. Negativity had no place in my lens; even in documenting harsh realities, my goal was to tell the story, not glorify the pain.
Hungry to grow, I enrolled in the photography program at Mount San Jacinto College. Around the same time, I upgraded to my first full-frame camera—a Nikon D800 with a Tokina wide-angle lens. At first, that single lens felt like a limitation, but mastering it taught me patience, precision, and the art of perspective. Adding a 70–200mm telephoto opened a whole new world, letting me capture both vast architecture and intimate details.
Eventually, I left the cell phone industry and jumped into full-time photography, starting with real estate work. It was enough to survive, but barely. This lasted for about a year before the jobs started to run out. That is when a low point unexpectedly became a pivot. I took my camera to an underground cannabis event in San Diego and saw an entire world bursting with stories. I focused on the vendors—capturing their products, their pride, their hustle—and built relationships that opened doors. Soon I was everywhere: San Diego, LA, the Inland Empire, even Las Vegas, photographing events, brands, and artists.
Today, Fotobudz is more than a name—it’s my art, my therapy, and my purpose. My lens has taken me from abandoned factories to bustling festivals, from silent decay to moments of human resilience. Every image is a step in my healing, a tribute to the boy who found safety behind a disposable camera and the man who refused to put it down again.
Photography is my privilege and my passion. I don’t just take pictures—I preserve stories, honor time, and turn pain into purpose. And the journey continues, one frame at a time.