ByStaff
From the sidelines of collegiate football fields to the heartbeats of locker room moments, Jaymonte Mcleod has become a visual storyteller reshaping how we view sports through the lens of culture, emotion, and identity. A former Division I athlete turned photographer, Jaymonte brings a rare blend of lived experience and creative instinct to every frame he captures. His journey from graphics in middle school to documenting the legacy of Black athletes is more than just career evolution—it’s a calling rooted in purpose, pride, and passion. With each click of the shutter, Jaymonte doesn’t just freeze time; he builds a visual archive of excellence that speaks to the soul of the game and the people who play it.
What led you to pick up a camera and ultimately use photography as your voice within the sports world?
Truthfully, I’ve always been drawn to creativity. Back in middle school, I was already diving into arts and crafts and even experimenting with graphics. They weren’t exactly masterpieces at the time—haha—but they were mine, and that mattered. That’s when the spark was lit, though I didn’t realize it yet. Photography didn’t enter the picture until college. After completing a full season and spring as a Division I football player, something shifted. I had achieved everything I set out to in that space, and there was a quiet sense of fulfillment I couldn’t ignore.
That summer, I made the decision to step away from the game and reinvest in myself—this time with a camera. I dropped about $600 on that first setup and instantly felt reconnected to art. At first, I just shot anything I found beautiful. I was a kid with a camera chasing light and stories. Then something wild happened: our Director of Marketing, who remembered me from my playing days, gave me my first media credential to shoot a college game from the sidelines. That opened the floodgates. Suddenly, athletes wanted portraits, students were hitting me up for grad shoots, and I was booking shoots with modeling and dance organizations. What started as a personal rediscovery of art turned into a purpose I couldn’t have planned—but fully embraced.
You’re working within the NCAA space, a dynamic environment filled with passion, competition, and raw emotion. How do you approach capturing those moments?
Being a former athlete, I still prepare for game day—but now it’s from behind the lens. I’ve built my own ritual: early morning prayer, curated playlists to get me in the zone, and just before I raise my camera, I sit in silence. Eyes closed. Grateful. That stillness grounds me. It’s my reminder that I get to do this—that I’m here, living in purpose, and creating from a place of love. I never take it for granted, and I shoot each game like it could be my last.
What does it mean to you, as a Black man, to document the stories and experiences of these athletes—many of whom look like you?
It’s a blessing—straight up. Being in this position to capture and amplify the stories of young Black athletes feels like divine alignment. We all come from different walks, but we share similar battles and dreams. To be entrusted with documenting their journey and celebrating their highs and lows is not something I take lightly. It’s a part of my purpose—making sure our stories are seen, felt, and remembered.
You often capture more than just the action—you highlight the emotion, the struggle, the triumph. How intentional are you about telling the full story of the athlete?
For me, storytelling is everything. Every shot I take is about 95% intentional. Being an athlete gave me a playbook for anticipating the action—I know where to be and when. But it’s more than positioning. It’s about seeing the humanity in the moment. Sometimes, it’s a perfect frame I planned for, but often it’s something spontaneous—a tear, a scream, a silent moment of reflection. Real stories have layers: joy, pain, victory, defeat. That’s what I chase.
What’s one unforgettable moment you’ve captured on camera that still moves you?
Man, there are so many. Each shoot has moments that hit me differently. But if I had to pick, I’d say my time with Morehouse stands out. I had a crazy two-year run with the Maroon Tigers, and that catalog holds a special place in my heart. It wasn’t just the games—it was the culture, the pride, the brotherhood. Some of my most meaningful work was born there.
There’s often pressure behind the scenes in sports, especially in collegiate athletics. How do you stay grounded and focused on your purpose?
What folks don’t see behind the camera is the grind—the pressure to always deliver, to capture the moment, to stay creative under tight timelines. It can be overwhelming. But I stay grounded by remembering this: my camera is bigger than the game. It’s a bridge between culture and memory. In Atlanta, a city overflowing with creativity and legacy, I’m constantly reminded that what I do matters. I carry the responsibility to document not just the athlete, but the story behind them. That keeps me focused.
How do you see photography as a tool not only for storytelling but also for legacy-building, especially for young athletes?
Photography is legacy work, no question. Sports move fast—blink and you might miss the play, the emotion, the meaning. But a photo? A photo makes it eternal. For young athletes, especially Black athletes, that means everything. It’s proof they were here. That their story mattered. That they were more than just a number on a jersey. These images become part of a bigger archive—of pride, of power, of progress.
In what ways do you hope your work influences or inspires the next generation of creatives—particularly Black photographers?
I want my work to be a reminder that your voice, your eye, your story belongs in this space. You don’t have to conform to be great. You don’t have to water down your perspective. If anything, our culture and our truth are exactly what this industry needs. I hope my journey gives someone else permission to create without apology, to dream without limits, and to document from a place of power.
What has been the most surprising lesson you’ve learned working in this space?
One of the hardest truths I’ve learned? Talent isn’t always enough. You can be elite with your camera and still be overlooked. Access, relationships, and network play a huge role—and that can be discouraging. But I’ve learned that validation doesn’t define value. Every frame I shoot is building something bigger than a resume. It’s building a platform. Even when the system doesn’t see me, my lens does—and that’s where my voice lives.
How do you balance the technical side of photography with the emotional awareness needed to capture authentic moments?
It’s definitely a balance—like being a technician and a storyteller at the same time. You’ve got to know your camera like the back of your hand so you’re not fumbling in the moment. But more importantly, you’ve got to feel the moment. Know when the energy shifts. Understand when silence says more than celebration. I prep my gear beforehand so I can be fully present when it counts. That’s when the magic happens.
Are there new visions or projects you’re excited to bring to life?
Absolutely. I’m working on writing a book that focuses on self-discovery, dream-chasing, and becoming the best version of yourself—beyond sports. I want to show the full human experience, especially for young Black men, and offer something that inspires growth both creatively and personally. This journey has always been about more than just photography—it’s about building space for others to rise too.
If you could say one thing to a young creative trying to break into the sports world, what would it be?
Don’t wait for permission. Start where you are, use what you have, and tell the story only you can tell. Shoot with heart. Let your perspective lead. This industry might move slow in welcoming new voices, but your voice matters. Be undeniable. Be authentic. And know that being in the room is powerful—but understanding why you’re there? That’s what shifts the culture. Keep showing up.
