Lamar Jackson’s Relentless Privacy Meets the Lens: How a Baltimore Photographer Captured the Unseen Work of a Superstar
Lamar Jackson has never been the type to seek the spotlight off the field. He doesn’t chase headlines, rarely invites cameras into his inner circle, and tends to speak louder with his actions than with carefully curated social media posts. For a player of his stature—a league MVP, a franchise cornerstone, a generational talent—Jackson’s retreat from the limelight has been both deliberate and defining. He works in silence, often choosing to let his on-field heroics speak for the labor that fuels them. But earlier this month, a rare breach in that solitude occurred—not through mainstream media, but through the eyes of someone whose journey mirrors Jackson’s own commitment to quiet excellence: Hassan Edwards, a 23-year-old freelance photographer from Baltimore.
Edwards isn’t a household name, but in the circles that matter—namely, among several Baltimore Ravens players—he’s become something of a trusted lens. His style is raw, authentic, and intimate, capturing athletes not just in action, but in those quiet, telling moments in between. For over two years, Edwards made his way into M&T Bank Stadium with little more than ambition, a camera, and the persistence of someone who understood that opportunity rarely comes knocking; you often have to build your own door. Sneaking his camera past security on more than one occasion, Edwards created a portfolio on the fly, one image at a time, until his work became too good to ignore.
And Jackson noticed.
Earlier this month, the unlikeliest of invitations came: a trip to South Florida, the heart of Jackson’s offseason grind, to document a private throwing session between the quarterback and his rising-star wide receiver, Zay Flowers. For Edwards, it was more than an assignment—it was a signal that his work had earned the trust of one of the NFL’s most guarded figures.
What makes this story uniquely compelling isn’t just the access granted—it’s the mutual understanding that underpins it. Jackson and Edwards both share an ethos grounded in effort over exposure. Neither man clamors for attention, though both possess the kind of talent that demands it. They move through the world guided less by noise and more by nuance. And so, when Edwards’ camera finally captured Jackson mid-throw, surrounded by the quiet hum of a South Florida field, it was a moment not just of photographic opportunity but of rare alignment—an artist documenting another artist at work.
The session itself was closed, private, and characteristically low-key. No media blast, no staged lighting, no behind-the-scenes documentary in the making. Just Jackson, Flowers, a few trusted associates, and one camera. The resulting photographs carry a tone that few other images of Jackson do. They don’t seek to dramatize him; instead, they reveal a focused, meticulous athlete—one whose movements are measured, not manic. There’s a distinct lack of performative energy in the shots. These are not pictures meant to be sold as hype; they’re intimate records of a professional fine-tuning his craft.
It’s no coincidence that Jackson prefers this kind of environment. Since his college days at Louisville, he’s avoided the media circus. Even after winning the NFL MVP award in 2019, Jackson’s core approach never changed. He speaks when necessary, posts when he wants to, and remains fiercely independent in an era where personal brands are often louder than performance. To Jackson, working in silence isn’t a strategic branding decision—it’s just who he is.
There’s a reason why his teammates speak of him with a kind of reverence that goes beyond his athletic ability. They know he puts in the work, even if few see it. Stories of Jackson organizing offseason workouts with receivers, quietly showing up hours early to training camp, or watching film deep into the night aren’t PR moves—they’re just the rhythms of a professional obsessed with mastery. And when he trains in South Florida, away from the cold lights of press rooms and the echo chambers of Twitter, it’s not because he’s hiding. It’s because that’s where he believes the real work happens.
Edwards’ story runs parallel. A Baltimore City College graduate, he found photography not through formal education, but through experimentation and hustle. He’s part of a generation of visual storytellers who find their subjects on the streets, in stadiums, and in those spaces between the public and the private. For him, Jackson wasn’t just a star—he was a symbol of what was possible when talent meets discipline. It’s why he took the risks he did to get into those early Ravens games with a camera in hand. It’s why he kept showing up, even when there was no guarantee anyone was watching.
Eventually, someone did. And not just anyone—one of the most elusive stars in all of sports.
In Edwards’ photographs from the Florida session, Jackson isn’t smiling for the camera. He’s focused, mid-throw, sometimes talking through a route with Flowers, other times locked in with his receivers as they work on timing and footwork. The images are beautiful in their restraint. There’s no grand statement, no dramatic filters—just the realism of sweat, repetition, and that strange kind of electricity that exists when two athletes are perfectly in sync. Flowers, the explosive second-year wide receiver, brings his own energy to the session. His route running is sharp, and the chemistry between him and Jackson feels less like a test and more like an extension of a rhythm they’ve already built. It’s that rhythm that Ravens fans hope will translate into something dangerous this season.
But beyond football, what makes this moment matter is how it challenges the idea that visibility is the only currency of success. Jackson doesn’t need to go live on Instagram to validate his grind. Edwards doesn’t need a major sports publication to justify his work. Their collaboration is a testament to what can happen when trust is built slowly, organically, and away from the usual mechanisms of hype and media spin.
There’s also something deeply Baltimore about the entire story. Jackson, who has become synonymous with the city’s hopes, and Edwards, a product of its streets and schools, crossing paths not because of a corporate partnership, but because their values align. In a way, it’s a love letter to the kind of grind the city is known for—quiet, relentless, and rooted in authenticity.
Of course, now that these photographs exist, they carry weight. They tell a story not just of an offseason training session, but of two paths converging—of a quarterback who refuses to let fame define him and a photographer who found his calling by chasing the game from the margins. Edwards will likely continue to rise. Already, his name is spreading among athletes looking for something more than staged portraits and brand deals. And Jackson? He’ll keep doing what he does best: working in the shadows, throwing in the heat, and letting the world catch up later.
In an era where athletes often manufacture moments for the sake of algorithms, Lamar Jackson and Hassan Edwards offer something refreshingly different. Their work is real, quiet, and born of a place most people never get to see. But for a brief moment in South Florida, one lens got the privilege to look in—and what it captured was nothing short of extraordinary.
