During August of 2010, I walked 120 miles from the Ninth Ward of New Orleans to the Gulf Of Mexico. It was the fifth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, and the oil spill in the gulf was about to be capped. I came to help. I came to work. I held lofty goals of an activist, and I wanted to use my hands. I walked, I listened and I came to pick up the work gloves of others rather than my own. I believe gloves connect a hand with purpose, and as I walked, I began to see the story of Louisiana between the marks, the scars and the holes of the discarded gloves along the highway. My eye turned to the strangers along the roads; towards the hands that welcomed me into their homes and fed me after my feet grew tired. These are the faces that came to gaze into my camera, and it was their gloves I carried across the state of Louisiana.