Gaining access is the bane of the documentary photographer’s life. You may want to take pictures of a Colombian drug cartel in action but doing so without being shot in the head can prove decidedly difficult
Gusmano Cesaretti seems to have solved the problem judging by his fantastic images of low rider subculture in East L.A in the early seventies
In an interview in the Los Angeles Times, Cesaretti believes that because he wasn’t American and that his English was bad, it allowed him to make a personal connection with the residents and earn their trust.
His pictures have that grainy beauty that you find in William Klein or Robert Frank’s work and in my opinion are practically as good.
It amazes me to think that before last week I’d never even heard of the guy and makes me wonder how many more classic photo essays are out there languishing in obscurity?