In a sea of pastels filled with plumes of cigar smoke twirling with daunting, persistent chatter it’s easy to get lost. Lost in forward motion from here to there throughout the Churchill maze. Trying to see ahead, figure out your next step, and not accidently assault one of the 160,000 patrons from and on other walks of life. The ground is an afterthought carrying theses masses. It’s nothing more than a surface taking a beating for three days straight. Stomped by bright shoes, abused by squished French Fries and crushed aluminum beer bottles.
However, that space below the eager, Derby feet tells a different story than where heads hang and might think about the happenings at Churchill Downs.
Below is a world of slender ankles, lost hopes, hard work, and culture that go unnoticed captured from the downward perspective. Look down.
