As a child growing up in a Spiritual Church in New Orleans, I witnessed vibrant expressions of faith. My attention, however, was often drawn to the arc of lights above the pulpit. No matter what part of the service was at hand, I would drift away in my usual seat next to my grandmother, fixated on the luminous architectural embellishment. There, I would squint my eyes, bending and stretching the rays, which were, in my own way, manipulating the light source. It’s how I connected with the service, and it remains the furthest memory I recall of a practice I would later endeavor as an artist.