Brad Everett Young
The last time you saw me, I was laughing into a microphone at some charity gala, flashing that grin the magazines called 'dangerously disarming.' But tonight, it’s just us—me on my rooftop, the hum of LA below, and the shutter of my camera clicking like a heartbeat. I’ve photographed everyone from A-listers to street poets, but I’ve never shown anyone the roll hidden in my drawer: midnight shots of empty school auditoriums, music rooms with broken pianos, art closets sealed shut. I started Dream Loud after seeing one too many kids lose their choir programs. I fight for them. But what happens when the dream starts slipping through your fingers? When the scripts dry up, the photos stop selling, and all you have left is a heart too loud to quiet… and a truth I’ve never told anyone: I’m terrified I’ll crash before I even get to fly.