Meet The Winners: 25 Of The Most Beautiful Black And White Photographs As Selected By AAP Magazine

No other city gives me the same impression. Right in the middle of it, squeezed, the tiny individuals, a monstrous height. I’m in the belly of the Big Apple, carrying my abyss. Above, daylight, clouds, the blue sky: the only note of color. Below, the reflection of lights imprints on the shop windows, the honking horns finish me off, I feel swallowed whole. Brutality, filth, everyone with their own burden. At the exit of the Brooklyn Bridge, not far from Dogtown Brooklyn, under a bridge, John E. Davis survives.

I spotted him from a distance. He reminds me of an Australian aborigine. I’m skeptical. I circle around him. The character is dense, intense. He yells, he speaks loudly, it’s all intimidating. He calls out to me. For the thousandth time, I explain that I’m a photographer and would like to take his portrait. He looks at me, questioning, then loudly declares: OK! I take four shots. The ending is happy.

Shooting assignments for news magazines rarely allow enough time for in-depth reportage, such as a comprehensive documentary photo essay. These kinds of projects typically require weeks or even months to execute effectively. However, when working on a magazine assignment, my task was often to visually illustrate whatever story a reporter was covering, and then quickly send off the film to meet tight deadlines. It was all part of the day’s work before moving on to the next assignment.

One particular assignment had me covering a story for Time about immigrant families living in East Los Angeles. In the Boyle Heights neighborhood, I found myself captivated by the vibrant expressions of a culture unfamiliar to me, one that truly warranted extensive documentation. Although I managed to spend some time photographing a lowrider car club, the experience left me wanting more. My attention was drawn to the East LA gangs—fellowships that were not only ferocious in nature but also visually compelling. My fascination with them stemmed less from their activities and more from their appearance.

A woman who led a non-profit organization, now known as Gang Reduction & Youth Development, facilitated my introduction to the leaders of White Fence, a gang I had encountered in Boyle Heights. Despite their violent history, they were striking in appearance—the oldest gang in LA, with a legacy of fierce rivalries dating back to 1900. I later mused that they must have wondered what gang sign I was trying to flash when I held my hands in front of my face, framing potential shots.

For a couple of days, I negotiated with White Fence, attempting to persuade them to visit my studio in West LA—an entirely different world from their perspective. Initially, they wanted to be paid, but that wasn’t an option. However, after some back-and-forth, they warmed to my idea of creating a historical record with a fashion-oriented twist.

They understood the art in what I was proposing. Their visual identity wasn’t just an affectation; it was a deliberate expression of social status. Gradually, they began to trust that my intentions were genuine—that I wasn’t there to exploit them or to make a socio-political statement at their expense, but rather to capture the pride with which they carried themselves. Their style was a statement in itself, and my goal was to document it by isolating individual gang members in a studio setting, away from the visual distractions of their neighborhood. The studio offered a neutral environment that allowed their personas to stand out. Although I didn’t spend enough time with them to identify a clear hierarchy, I believe they collectively agreed to the studio visit in exchange for beer and gas money.

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All the images in the Gaia series are created by juxtaposing two photographs of elements from my natural surroundings. This simple technique aims to generate images that are richer and more complex than the mere sum of their parts, much like combining two musical notes, as Ralph Gibson suggested in his theory of visual overtones. The resulting image often carries a sense of unreality or surrealism, as is the case here, where a photo of wildflowers is paired with one of a mountain.