When I was a young boy, I spent a part of my childhood living on a ranch in central Mexico. The ranch was in a rural part of the country, and I was very isolated and alone. The home was an unhealthy environment. I would avoid being there as much as possible.
It was during this time that I began constructing an alternate world within my imagination, a world bursting with vibrant colors and adventures.
To escape my reality, I would venture out into the vast expanse of the land, immersing myself in its breathtaking beauty. Sitting out on the open fields, I would observe the wild horses as they gracefully roamed free envisioning myself riding alongside them. I befriended the animals; I would go swimming in the rivers, and steal fruit from the old church. The nuns would act upset but looked the other way. I knew deep down that they purposefully left out the fruit, and sometimes bread, anticipating the arrival of a hungry young adventurer. I explored, I escaped.
Now, fast-forward to present day. As I drove home after taking these pictures, I was overwhelmed with emotion, and I couldn’t understand why. Suddenly, a flood of memories from my childhood washed over me, and I realized I have been escaping my entire life. From the very first moment I held a camera in my hands, my goal has been to capture the vivid world in my mind.
In that moment of reflection, I understood that my lifelong pursuit of photography was more than a hobby. It was a means to transport others, even if momentarily, to the enchanting world that had once rescued me from a bleak existence. Each photograph I take serves as a testament to the power of imagination and the enduring desire to escape the harsh realities of life, if only through the prism of art.
•The Boy at Vasquez Rock•
My Story-
•Remembering Miguel: A Dia De Los Muertos Story•
In a dream, you appeared to me, your voice resonating with a gentle, soothing tone, a poignant reminder of your inherent kindness. As I poured out my heart, laden with regret and shame for how I had navigated your years of illness, you graciously listened. Your acceptance of my apology washed over me, and I awoke with tears staining my pillow.
My stepfather Miguel Contreras Sr. once possessed a weathered 1984 red Toyota Celica GT. Despite its battered appearance and countless miles of rough road, he cherished that car and cared for it as if it were a prized possession. His devotion to this vehicle was unwavering. However, as a 13-year-old, I found this car to be incredibly embarrassing, and I didn't hesitate to express my disdain for it. Eventually, tensions reached a breaking point. One day, he picked me and my friends up from school, and I insisted that he park several blocks away to avoid being seen in front of the school. As I reluctantly entered the car, I muttered to a friend, "This car is a piece of sh*t.” To my astonishment, Miguel overheard me.
“Get out of my piece of sh*t car; you can walk!,” he retorted, addressing me in English for the first time. My jaw dropped as he booted me out the car. I walked home, a mix of emotions swirling within me, leaving me baffled and embarrassed. Upon my arrival home, I found Miguel waiting, and we talked.
Miguel was a man of few words. Father/son conversations like these were rare, but I am grateful for this one.
He presented a simple proposition: that I should treat him with the same respect he was extending to me. Reflecting on it now, this arrangement might seem elementary, but at that age, it profoundly reshaped my perspective. I had been a troublesome teenager, never truly addressing the traumas of my childhood, and I was spiraling out of control. However, Miguel's approach differed significantly; he didn't chastise me for my behavior but rather provided me with a choice regarding the type of relationship we would cultivate moving forward. That night, as I lay in bed, I pondered the concept of respecting others and my ongoing struggle with it. I realized the necessity for change, and Miguel's words became my guiding beacon in my future interactions with him and other people. More significantly, that day, I learned how to accept love and guidance from a father figure once again.
Thank you, Miguel, for imparting the importance of respect and for the love we shared during the brief time you were in my life.
I vividly recall visiting him at the home after he fell ill, and with immense pride, he would introduce me as his son to the nurses and everyone around. As I write this now, my eyes still well up thinking about it. He kept his promise to me until his final days.
I hold the belief that we never truly cease to exist; instead, we transition from our physical bodies to new beginnings with our souls. Until the day our souls reunite in the afterlife, please know that in this life Miguel Jr. continues to teach me about respect, brotherly love, and the enduring bond of family.
You would be so proud.
"Sometimes, we just need someone to believe in us. In case I haven't told you, I believe in you." -Armando
The Mexican American experience has been a profound journey, placing individuals in an enigmatic space caught between two worlds, never fully embraced as American or Mexican, lingering in an existential purgatory of identity. As I have matured, I have delved deeper into this subject, yearning to unravel the true meaning of my own identity.
My heritage is a blend of mostly Indigenous and Spanish, yet even armed with this knowledge, I still found myself distant from grasping the essence of my culture or identity.
Only recently have I come to the realization that the answer has been right in front of me this entire time: Family. It is within the tapestry of traditions passed down through generations that the essence of my culture resides. The years I spent apart from my family or distanced from them were fragments of my own culture that I knowingly neglected. The notion that I wasn't Mexican enough was a construct crafted within the confines of my own mind. In the past few years, I have made a deliberate effort to reconnect with my family, my heritage, my culture, and at long last, I feel myself inching closer to comprehending my identity as a Mexican American with deep Indigenous roots.
In the first installment of this multi-series collection, I am deeply moved to celebrate my friend Armando and his extraordinary community of Boyle Heights, California. Throughout my extensive television career, Armando shines brightly among the few Mexican American Camera Operators I have had the honor of collaborating with. A single silent gaze from him on set, filled with an understanding of our shared experiences, becomes a profound source of encouragement, reminding me to persevere even when the world seems unyielding to our voices. Armando is more than just a friend; he is the embodiment of my people. He has opened up his home and community to me and shared the stories of his ancestors. I am appreciative of that.
Over the years I’ve witnessing Armando's remarkable growth as a highly skilled camera operator, an artist, a true friend, and an unwavering pillar of support for his community. Above all, he embodies the essence of a loving husband, a devoted father, and the epitome of a quintessential family man.
With this collection, I aim to pay heartfelt homage to the profound significance of Latino men like Armando, who wholeheartedly embrace their roles within their loving families. May these images stand as a testament to the indelible mark they leave upon their communities, and may they inspire others to cherish and celebrate the profound beauty that resides within Latino families.
•Armando Collection•
•Love Letter to California: A Photo Exploration•
California, you are the current that fuels my spirit, propelling me forward with unwavering determination. With every heartbeat, we synchronize, reminding me of the deep connection we share. Like a skilled swimmer, I surrender myself to the vast ocean of your affection, embracing each surge that challenges me to explore uncharted waters and seek new shores of personal growth and transformation.
In your embrace, my dreams and aspirations find their sanctuary, intertwining with the enchantment of your land. The echoes of my ancestors' melodies reverberate through ancient redwood forests, while whispers of their wisdom dance on the gentle breeze that caresses the leaves on the oak trees. Your breathtaking landscapes, ranging from majestic mountains to enchanting forests and awe-inspiring coastlines, have stolen my heart and bestowed upon me an insatiable sense of wonder. Each sunset graces your skies with a masterpiece, saturating my soul with boundless hope and inspiration.
Together, we weather storms and navigate the uncertainties of life, anchored by a love that transcends time and circumstance.
Forever swept away in the currents of your affection,
-Ruben
•Confessions of a Smudged Bandit•
-A Tale of Crime, Addiction, and Redemption.
I must admit, I have a checkered past. I have stolen from people—people I love, even. However, before you cast me as a thief and send me to the lepers, let me explain myself.
In the depths of my past, my life resembled a pair of glasses perpetually marred by smudges—a haze of negative influences that clouded my vision. It was as if a stubborn layer of grime and debris had settled upon the edges of my frame, gradually obscuring my perspective.
The smudges grew darker, and I found myself losing sight of what truly mattered. But in that moment of darkness, you, my dear friends and family, emerged as beacons of light.
This confession is dedicated to each and every one of you who welcomed me into your homes and hearts. It pains me to admit that I have taken advantage of your kindness, becoming a thief in my own right. When you weren't looking, I stealthily pilfered the cleaning cloths from your glasses cases, using them as if they were my own.
In my defense, my own glasses were in great need of gentle cleaning, and in my desperate state, I resorted to stealing your cloths, hoping they would provide me with the clarity I so desperately sought. I believed that if these fabrics worked for you, they might work for me as well. And, to a large extent, I was right. Your precious cleaning cloths helped me see the world a little better, enabling me to remove the deeply rooted smudges that clouded my perception.
What has now become clear to me, glasses pun intended, is that I must return them to their rightful homes; they have served their purpose. To those who have passed, I will honor your gift of clarity by finding deserving recipients who embody your spirit. And to my friends and family, I implore you to hold me accountable. Demand the immediate return of your precious cleaning cloths, and I will gladly comply. Through this act, I hope to reintroduce myself—a person who, because of you, sees the world with greater clarity.
One year sober.
•Fairest of them all: A Renaissance Faire photo Collection•
The People Danced On
In the heart of kingdom, there stood a vibrant town square. It was a place where the people gathered every evening, leaving behind their worries and miseries. Here, musicians played enchanting melodies, and dancers swirled in a whirlwind of joy. The rhythm of their movements seemed to cast a spell, momentarily freeing them from the troubles that lurked beyond the square.
While the people danced, the king and queen slumbered in their opulent palace, oblivious to the crumbling state of their beloved kingdom. They were cocooned in a world of luxury, disconnected from the reality faced by their subjects. The once vigilant monarchs had become ignorant of the hardships endured by those they were meant to protect.
In the midst of chaos, their dance became a celebration of resilience and hope. The vibrant energy enveloped the air, reminding them that even in the face of adversity, love and joy could triumph. With each step and every graceful spin, they defied the troubled world around them, embracing the power of unity and the belief that together, they could rebuild their shattered kingdom. Their troubles melted away, if only for a moment, as the people danced with a fierce determination.
The kingdom awoke to the symphony of hope, and the palace trembled under its weight.
•Open Canvas•
When we are born, we are given an open canvas, and while some may receive better brushes, superior tools, or guidance from renowned painters, we all paint. We etch our stories and emotions upon the canvas of life, with some marks running deep and others fading. We persistently fill the canvas with memories, dreams, successes, and failures -all beautiful because they are uniquely ours.
As time passes, we continue to fill the open spaces with each stroke of our brush, adding layers of experiences to our masterpiece. When we depart from this world, our painting will hang in the gallery of life, reflecting the profound imprint of our existence. What kind of painting are you leaving behind as your legacy to the world?
To my muse, I hope you're enjoying creating this painting as much as I am.
•The RIDGE•
As the sun set, casting a golden glow over the landscape, he stood on the bridge with his bag packed and his heart heavy with anticipation. Below him, the river flowed steadily, a constant presence in his life, reflecting the ever-changing sky above. As he gazed at the water, he saw his journey mirrored in its currents, linking the shores of his past and future. Ahead, the drawbridge loomed, a passage from the familiar into the unknown. With a deep breath, he crossed over, each step a silent farewell to what was and a hopeful greeting to what could be.
