Some shoots are loud. Others are stripped down until they feel almost secret. This session at the American Dream wave pool belonged to the second kind.
Stepping into American Dream Mall from cold winter air, the first challenge was not timing or framing. It was physics. Cold lenses hit an 80-degree, humid water park and instantly fog over. Condensation blooms across the glass, sometimes even inside the lens, and there is nothing you can rush. You wait. Waves are running, moments are unfolding, and your camera is temporarily blind.
What made this day special was how quiet everything else was.
In the water, it was only French Montana and his cousin Kam surfing. Will and Kenny were in the pool with them, instructing directly from the water, calling lines, giving real-time feedback, and keeping the energy calm and focused. Outside the pool, the only other person in the entire space was the pool engineer, fine-tuning the wave. No crowd. No public session. Just a massive indoor surf park narrowed down to a handful of people and a perfectly repeating wave.
While my lenses slowly cleared, I watched the session unfold. French and Kam found their rhythm wave by wave. Wipeouts turned into adjustments. Adjustments turned into confidence. Then French dropped in, set his line, and disappeared behind the curtain. A clean barrel. Inside a mall. In New Jersey. One of those moments that feels surreal even while it is happening.
Once the fog finally lifted from the glass, everything snapped into place. Two surfers, instructors in the water, and nothing else competing for attention. Every frame felt intentional because there was no chaos to fight. Just motion, water, and genuine reactions playing out in real time. Kam charging his waves. French locked in, earning that barrel with focus and repetition.
These are the details people never see in the final images. The fogged lenses. The waiting. The patience it takes to let gear acclimate before you can even raise the camera. But that pause becomes part of the story. It slows you down enough to recognize how rare a moment really is.
Walking out afterward, camera packed and clothes damp with pool mist, the feeling lingered. Surfing reduced to its essentials. Two surfers, two instructors in the water, one engineer behind the controls, and a photographer waiting for the glass to clear. French Montana getting barreled indoors, proof that surf culture keeps bending expectations and showing up exactly where you least expect it.
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Photographer’s Notes
This water park is designed to be flooded with natural light during the day. The roof is almost entirely glass, so when the sun is up, the space feels bright, open, and easy to work with. At night, that advantage disappears. Once the sun is gone, the park becomes noticeably darker, and the remaining artificial lighting has to do all the work.
Combined with water reflections and moving waves, that low-light environment becomes challenging fast. Highlights spike unpredictably off the wave face, while riders fall into shadow between passes. Add in the constant motion of surfing and the need for fast shutter speeds, and exposure becomes a balancing act on every single wave.
On top of that, walking in from cold outdoor temperatures into a warm, humid space causes immediate condensation on camera lenses. The fog often forms inside the lens, which means wiping it down does nothing. You have to wait for the glass to acclimate before shooting, even while waves are running.
Once everything settles, the environment rewards patience. The wave is consistent, the lines repeat, and you can begin anticipating how the light will behave instead of reacting to it. Indoor surf photography at night is less about chasing the perfect frame and more about learning the room, understanding the rhythm, and being ready when light, water, and timing finally line up.