„The photographs that matter most are the ones only an insider could make” – Interview with Emmanuel Rosario

How did your connection to the New York punk scene begin, and what inspired you to document it?

I was always a punk at heart, though I never called it that. From 2012 to 2018, I drifted across the country, living out of my car, and in various cities, following roads that had no end. When I came back to New York, I was looking for something familiar but found emptiness instead. Friends had moved, the city had shifted. Then in 2020, just before the world shut down, I began finding my tribe, musicians, kids at shows, strange characters on Instagram who slowly became real. At first I just made photos of the bands I liked. Faces turned into friends and the project grew from those nights.

Your series captures more than just concerts, there are quiet, intimate moments too. Was it a conscious decision to highlight the human side of this community?

Yes. I've always found it hard to photograph random people because without trust, photography can feel invasive. I never wanted the work to feel like I was just passing through as a tourist. My aim was to show what it feels like on the inside, the intimacy and vulnerability of friends sitting on a park bench, tattoos shared at bars, or someone sewing a jacket as a form of self-expression. Punk isn't just the roar of guitars, it's also the quiet moments that follow, and I wanted to capture both sides of that.

What does punk mean to you? A genre, a mindset, a lifestyle? And has that meaning changed throughout the process of making this series?

I've never tried to define punk too tightly. To me, it's about self-expression and refusing to conform. Sometimes that looks like rebellion, youth shaking their fists at the sky, and other times it's as simple as dressing how you want, even if it's just for a night. Punk has always been about letting people live how they want without judgment. At the same time, it's about community, about showing up for each other, even in hard moments like a hospital visit after a crash. For some it's a phase of freedom and experimentation, for others it becomes a lifelong mindset. Either way, it's never really been about the uniform. Punk is a mindset.

Your photos radiate a sense of trust and closeness. What kind of relationships did you build with the people you photographed? Were there moments where you felt like an insider seeing something others never would?

Thank you, that really means a lot to me. Trust is the lifeblood of my work. I can only make real photographs when people let me in and allow me to see their vulnerable side, and it's my responsibility to honor that. My goal is always to show people honestly, with all the different sides of who they are, without ever disrespecting them. The photographs that matter most are the ones only an insider could make, the ones that slip you into someone else's life for a moment and make you feel something deeper. In a world oversaturated with images, I think the strongest photographs are the ones that act like a passage, carrying you inside someone else's world, not just give you a pretty picture.

 This is the first time the series is exhibited in Europe – in Hungary. What does this international debut mean to you, and how do you hope European audiences will respond?

I'm so excited. This is the first time I have shown a personal body of work and it feels like the work is finally standing on its own. I've shown pieces before in group exhibitions, but this project marks the start of a new chapter with new friends and new nights. Bringing it to Europe feels like carrying a piece of New York across the ocean, letting people see our music, our grit, and our love. Having this international debut motivates me to keep going, making more photographs, publishing more zines, and staying close to the community I'm documenting. I hope European audiences see a different side of punk, one that's specific to New York right now, and that they connect with the energy and openness of the scene here.

Your visual style is distinctive. What gear and techniques did you use, and how much did that shape the final look of the work?

The tools are simple. A Nikon in hand, a wide lens and sometimes an off camera flash. My years as a photo assistant taught me how to shape light, and I dragged that knowledge out of the studio into the streets. But ultimately what shapes the final look is the connection I have with those I photograph.

As a documentary photographer, what do you think is the most important thing to capture in a subculture like this? What do you see differently than most?

Intimacy. Without it, the work falls flat. Mary Ellen Mark taught me this, not in person, but in how she lived among those she photographed. To observe from a distance is one thing, but to live it, to be touched by it, is another. That is where the photographs breathe.

Are you currently working on a new project? If yes, we'd love to hear a little about what's keeping you inspired these days.

Yes, I'm working on a new project about the NYC biker community, which has been growing and becoming part of the city's identity in recent years. It's always been there, but in the past it felt smaller and more underground. Now it's starting to feel like a real part of the city's identity. There's this Americana vibe creeping in, honky-tonk-style bars opening in Brooklyn and Manhattan but with a very New York twist: more progressive views, more respect, more consent, more openness and acceptance. My friend groups split between musicians on one side and motorcycle aficionados on the other, both worlds overlap constantly at shows and in garages. I've been documenting a lot of it: the process of building bikes, the social events, the long summer rides, and the quiet, personal moments between friends.