The White Fence

While shooting an unrelated photo story in the East LA neighborhood of Boyle Heights, I was getting eyeballed by some of its other extraordinary denizens. And I grew fascinated with eyeballing THEM. So what if their vicious criminal history and murderous rivalries dated back to 1900 — the oldest gang in Los Angeles. White Fence cultivated their visual identity, a deliberate manifestation of social status. I introduced myself and explained that I'd like to photograph them, but in the neutral environment of my studio. Some of them agreed to come if I coughed up money for beer and gas. They enjoyed the idea I laid out: creating a historical record with a fashion twist. They understood art and cultivated the gang’s visual identity, not as an affectation but a deliberate manifestation of social status. They neglected to bring their wives and girlfriends as I had requested. Perhaps another time, they said, without making any promises. Apparently, the women were home in curlers, styling up for a fiesta. That’s exactly what I had hoped to get on film: big hair, exaggerated makeup, and tatts. In my studio they posed one by one and in small groups, intrigued by my big, unfamiliar-looking view camera. Those who weren’t on camera watched, drank beer, and ate the pizza I had delivered. They grew restless. I said we were just getting started. They were not having it. I asked about returning some other time with their wives and girlfriends. Perhaps another time, they said, no apologies, no promises. I gave them a hundred bucks to fill up their cars. And they left.