The marches and protests that brought in the new year were the first indicators that 2017 would be full of political discourse and civil unrest. And, as the arts have always mirrored the world’s events, artistic expression is at a vigorous high. That’s especially true for artists in Baltimore, who have borne witness to the death of Freddie Gray and the city’s accelerating murder rate.

Amy Sherald gazes at the walls of her studio. At one point this year, they were covered with the vibrant blues, yellows, and pinks of her portraits, but just recently those works were shipped off to an exhibit in Chicago and all of them sold. Now, the walls are the bright white of a just-rented apartment. Such is the paradoxical life of a successful artist.

Before tonight, Ama Chandra had doubts about whether she could go through with this. The enormity of standing in front of a packed house to share her story was overwhelming. But, she is determined, because she has a message to share. “This is all gravy now,” she says. “At the beginning, it was more about being a survivor. Now, I’m past that. I’m about championing the soul.”

The remains of dry cornstalks wave in the breeze along a winding road in Pungo, behind a brick one-story, next to a white frame house.

Back in the 1930s, if you traveled here, you'd see farm fields that stretched for miles in all directions. This was a rural part of a rural county, but this patch of Princess Anne Road, in what is now southern Virginia Beach, was different.

It had a baseball stadium.

They jammed into the passageway, surrounded on three sides by the saltwater's murky depths.

Cocktails in hand, the partygoers in holiday dresses and Christmas ties resembled passengers on an aquatic subway. Glass on either side and overhead separated them from the sea creatures making their way through the enormous tank.

The guests buzzed with excitement, and some fanned themselves in the sticky air.