I’D GROWN UP in Albuquerque seeing lowriders my whole life, but mostly in passing. One Sunday in 2017, I took my camera to Seventh Street and Central Avenue. I wanted to photograph scenes I’d only ever caught out of the corner of my eye. I started making pictures.
Then I ran into Steven “Sparky” Gomez. With a vintage trailer he’d turned into a hot dog truck, he was one of those people who held the scene together. When I gave him a print I’d made of him a few weeks later, the exchange changed everything. It wasn’t a strategy. I was just trying to show appreciation—to say, “I see you.”
The lowrider community gave me a sense of belonging. It’s tight—family centered. Kids and elders are everywhere. People greet each other like relatives. Lowriding is a cultural expression built on pride, creativity, and community, tied to Chicano heritage, craftsmanship, and storytelling. The cars are rolling works of art, but they’re also family history: A pinstripe’s clean line, a father teaching his kid how to hit the switches.
Seventh and Central really was the spot. The intersection would fill up with cars, people, and music, and stay that way late into the evening. People posted up in clusters, catching up, laughing, checking out rides. Sundays felt magical.
And then, like everything real, it changed. The community has always gathered, but the spots move. A corner that’s packed one year can be quiet the next. The scene adapts. The culture keeps going, because it’s not about one intersection. It’s about people.