We recently connected with Zai . and have shared our conversation below.
Zai, thanks for joining us, excited to have you contributing your stories and insights. We’d love to hear about a project that you’ve worked on that’s meant a lot to you.
Here’s a refined version of your text while keeping your voice and storytelling intact:
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### **Refined Version**
It’s challenging to pinpoint a handful of projects that have resonated with my heart over my seven-year career because each one has served its own unique purpose. When I first started posting on YouTube, I was creating purely out of expression—the need to bring my ideas to life outside of my head. I was young, with little direction, but I knew one thing: I couldn’t be told *no*. That mindset still holds true today because every “no” is just a faster route to a “yes.” Ultimately, every project I’ve agreed to has nourished my soul in its own way, which is why it’s difficult to single out just a few that stand above the rest.
Recently, I’ve been working on two projects that allow my love for cinema and photography to fully coexist. Most notably, I just finished directing a short film for *Sloan & Bennett*, a high-end menswear brand founded in Compton, conceptualized in France, and produced in Los Angeles.
The journey began in June 2024 on a real estate shoot, where I met Patrick, the brand’s founder and lead designer. At the time, he was a stranger—just a sharply dressed man in a full suit that immediately reminded me of Mr. Bubbles from *Lilo & Stitch*. Being myself, I made sure to let him know. That sparked a conversation about his wardrobe and his brand. Before he left, I asked if he’d be open to creating a photograph together. I mentioned that I strictly shoot in black and white, and his response was immediate: *“I have a short film that I want to do in black and white for my brand!”*
The next day, we met at Ora Cafe in Leimert Park and talked for six hours straight—about art, representation, building community, Black ownership, and holding ourselves accountable. Our ethos aligned, and my spirit grew. A few days later, we connected again to create photographs.
Fast forward to January 7th—wildfires had engulfed LA, making national news. That evening, Patrick called me. *“Pull up to my place. I need to talk to you.”* No questions asked, I drove across the city, unaware that from this moment forward, we were in full pursuit of bringing his short film to life.
This project was the most challenging I’ve ever taken on—testing my skills, patience, loyalty, and spiritual peace. *Hands down*, it was a David vs. Goliath situation. Every garment was custom-made for the lead actor, which was amazing from a creative standpoint but a nightmare in terms of production. We never had a clear start date or a secured crew. On top of that, Patrick made it clear from day one: *This had to be an all-Black production.*
That request, while deeply intentional, was one of the biggest hurdles. The film industry already has a limited number of Black professionals behind the camera. When you filter for Black-owned professional equipment and resources—not just consumer-grade gear—the options become nearly nonexistent. Fortunately, I leaned into my community, calling in every favor to make this campaign happen.
This project meant the world to me—not just because it was black and white (though that was the easiest way to get me on board), but because it was a *playground* for visual storytelling. Patrick would often refer to his treatment, saying, *“I don’t speak film, I speak fashion. As long as it feels like this, go for it.”* I took that to heart and leaned into what I knew best: photography and cinema.
My goal was for each frame to stand alone as a photograph, not just rely on the sequence of moving images. One of my favorite shots to create was inspired by *La Haine* (1996), a French film about three young men in the aftermath of police brutality. The entire film is in black and white, with frames that hit like a punch to the gut. I’d always wanted a reason to recreate its iconic bathroom scene, and this project gave me that chance. Instead of using a mirror to show the lead actor’s reflection, I had him stare directly at the audience—inviting them into his pain.
Another favorite moment was the rally scene, where the men in the audience are different versions of our hero, each in distinct clothing. Originally, we wanted to clone 60+ people at the Compton courthouse, but that would have drained our entire budget. Instead, we found a way to execute the vision while maintaining the integrity of the story and showcasing the collection in a meaningful way.
This project carries weight because it was created with intention from start to finish. I was able to hire my brothers, tell an authentic story, and produce something vastly different from traditional fashion campaigns. Beyond the visuals, we showcased representation—*not just in front of the lens, but behind it*. That, above all, means everything to me.
As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?
Here’s a refined version while keeping your voice and message intact:
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For those who don’t know me—hello, my name is Zai. I’m an eight-year-old at heart, traveling near and far to shed light on stories that move me, whether through cinematography or fine art photography. My fine art work revolves around a lifelong project of mine called *Black Boy Fly*—a visual journey of young Black men, women, and children living in their purpose. It also serves as a space for those navigating grief in its many forms. The project was born from the tears of my youngest sibling, who mourned the loss of her friend after the 2023 University of Virginia shooting (D’Sean Perry, Lavel Davis Jr., and Devin Chandler).
My mission is twofold: to reclaim the narrative for Black men, women, and children by telling stories that go beyond our trauma and to provide the representation I didn’t have growing up—so that future generations can see themselves reflected in a powerful, honest way.
I am by no means a conventional artist. I didn’t go to school for fine art photography or filmmaking. I had no industry connections. And I don’t create for mass appeal. I am a niche artist, creating to exist. I welcome anyone drawn to my style of storytelling—anyone who believes in crafting imagery that our people can lean on in hard times, lifting spirits and laying the foundation for younger generations to stand on.
I love life for its unapologetic nature—it fuels my excitement to create, to live, to breathe, to exist. I thrive in the unknown, in the midst of chaos, because that’s where the most meaningful stories unfold. Anyone who works with me will have my full attention, my curiosity, and my passion for collaboration. At the end of the day, all I want is to create work that I can show my mom and be proud of.
How about pivoting – can you share the story of a time you’ve had to pivot?
Prior to living in LA, I was based in North Carolina, working full-time as a cinematographer creating stock footage for Getty Images. From the start, I knew that environment wasn’t my end-all, but rather my film school—a place where I was getting paid to learn and execute, even if it came with growing pains.
After two and a half years, I left the production company to go independent as a cinematographer. However, I didn’t have a reel I was proud of—one I could lean on to generate more work. So, when I moved to LA, I pivoted and leaned more into photography. At the time, my photography wasn’t what it is now. I didn’t have a defined style, let alone a clear voice. But I committed to it daily, affirming to myself that I was still a cinematographer.
Over time, my cinematic style began to bleed into my photography. As I explored LA, I built my network by turning around projects overnight, making strong impressions that led to work with high-profile brands and personalities. This momentum also allowed me to capitalize on international travel while continuing my gallery series, *Black Boy Fly*.
For the past two years, I’ve been solely focused on fine art photography, immersing myself in that world. It’s been a slight detour, but not one that has taken me away from my ultimate goal—telling stories that belong in theaters and on streaming platforms.
Do you think there is something that non-creatives might struggle to understand about your journey as a creative? Maybe you can shed some light?
The journey to the mountaintop is anything but linear—it’s the furthest thing from it.
As a 9-to-5 W-2 employee, you wake up knowing exactly what needs to get done that day. You have deadlines, structure, and when it’s time to clock out, you can actually *clock out*—mentally check out, stop caring until tomorrow. As creatives, we don’t have that luxury. There’s no security, no habitual rhythm to lean on. We wake up every morning with a lingering sense of *something*—not quite sure what needs to get done, but knowing we need to start moving before the day slips away.
Some mornings are dull, dragging on into the evening like a bad first date. Then, for no logical reason, eating ramen at midnight with my friends suddenly sparks a concept. I go home, and that concept grows *fast*. If I don’t put pen to paper, sleep is out of the question. Next thing I know, it’s 8 a.m., I’ve accidentally mapped out an entire photo series, but I also have a breakfast meeting with a director I met at the movies last night… and I desperately need sleep.
People with 9-to-5s will never understand, and that’s okay. Just like I’ll never understand the idea of *clocking in* and *clocking out*. I’m sick—some would say infected—with a disease called *compulsive storytelling syndrome*, and the only known cure is execution. And even that doesn’t always work.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://Zaitoldme.com
- Instagram: Zaitoldme
