What started as a simple photography class project spiraled into something I can no longer describe with words. Today, it is my life. It brought me deep into the local Los Angeles indie wrestling scene, and I have loved every single minute of the chaos.

I don’t do this for likes. I do this as a tribute to the wrestlers I knew when I was young who have passed away. Every time I pick up my camera—whether loading a roll of analog film or booting up a digital sensor—I am honoring those we have lost.

My lens belongs to the rudos, the underground, and the beautiful, gritty reality of Lucha Libre. These athletes are real. Their stories, their sweat, and their pain are real. Because I refuse to let these moments dissolve into a scrolling feed, I commit them to physical objects. I make tangible photo books, DIY zines, and silver halide prints. If you hold my work in your hands, you are holding a piece of a subculture that refuses to die.