Estevan Oriol has got the receipts. The OG photographer and director has 30-plus years of shooting everything from hip-hop artists to Afghan prisons to Japanese Bōsōzoku, resulting in a bulletproof archive that spans wide and delves deep into the cultural spectrum. Oriol’s iconic “L.A. Fingers” image — which shows a woman’s manicured, ring-decked fingers forming the letters of this city — is arguably second only to the Dodgers logo as the most identified people’s symbol of Los Angeles. And it’s his relationship to his hometown, the City of Angels, that defines his sui generis eye and puts him up there with such greats as Ansel Adams, Mary Ellen Mark and Daidō Moriyama. Oriol has an instantly recognizable style that shows reverence for his subject and a deep connection to the environment. He’s also started a few different clothing brands with friends over the years, including Joker, one of the first West Coast streetwear brands, which just celebrated its 30-year anniversary.
We chopped it up one afternoon at Chateau Marmont, the location at his request. We have been friends for over 10 years, and though my job titles have changed a few times, one thing always remains consistent: I will do a project with Estevan at some point. He is my favorite and most steadfast collaborator, suitable for all occasions, always raising the bar with a fresh perspective. Our first event was the “California Love” photography and lowrider show at Milk Studios in 2016, where the lo-lo’s were dramatically lit as if they had descended from heaven, combined with the best of Estevan’s L.A. images.
He sends me a shot of the traffic on Franklin Avenue from his car while on his way to our interview. Estevan does this when he’s running late. It strikes me as funny because, of course, he would send a picture — he’s a photographer, after all — but I realize what he’s really doing is sending me confirmation that he’s not in bed hungover or finishing his lunch. He’s on his way. Proof of life.
Estevan wears Jacques Marie Mage sunglasses, Hoorsenbuhs jewelry and wallet chain, Firmé Atelier suit and top, and To Boot loafers customized by Firmé Atelier.
Seulgi Oh: In your mind, what is the biggest misconception about being Estevan Oriol?
Estevan Oriol: I would say that people always put me in, like, a niche, in a basket. They only know me for what they know me for. So if they know me for gang culture, they think I only shoot gangs or hip-hop or lowriding or whatever the subject is. At times, I wish they just did a little bit of homework when they say, “Oh, I’m a big fan.” But for the most part, I know that not everybody has time to sit there and research me.
SO: What’s a typical day like for you?
EO: I wake up, turn on my sauna, get the cold plunge going, and then I go hit the water pot and decide whether I want to have coffee or tea. I try to do some type of exercise after that, and then I get ready to go out for the day. The whole day is the hustle, whether it’s work, whether it’s getting a past job done, doing a job, or getting new work. And I go until I feel like I’ve accomplished enough, which is never enough. I never feel like I’ve done what I wanted to do in that day. Sometimes the day ends at 10 p.m., sometimes 2 a.m., but I always start at the same time [8 a.m.].
Most of my career has been winging it. I don’t have a plan. I don’t have a thought-out process, which most people do. But the way that I came into my career, I didn’t have that. I didn’t come in traditionally, I just came in doing photos. I would show up to these places maybe a half an hour before and look around the area and hope that the guy would want to go outside. Because sometimes they were like, “Nah, man, we just shoot right here.” They told me to go shoot Robert Rodriguez at this hotel one time in Beverly Hills, and it was horrible — the hotel lobby didn’t look cool. I asked him if it would be OK if we went outside to the back because I saw this cool wall that we could shoot at, and he was like, “Yeah, no problem.” So I took him and Rosario Dawson behind the hotel, put them standing against my car, and the pictures came out great. But then I could have never planned that either. I’m good at working on the fly.
SO: You’re always drawn less to the mainstream and more to the road less traveled. Early in your career, you were known for shooting gang life, prisons, lowriders. What draws you to these subcultures?
EO: Most of the time, I document it for myself. I’m not documenting to shed light on it or show people what they could see if they went to this place, because most of the people in the world have never seen 95% of my photos, maybe more.
Estevan Oriol, “Fox/trigger”
Estevan Oriol, “Spanto”
SO: Stanley Kubrick said, “I’ve got a peculiar weakness for criminals and artists, neither takes life as it is. Any tragic story has to be in conflict with things as they are.” Do you relate?
EO: I mean, I like that. I have accepted the world for what it is. It’s f—ing nuts. There’s no rock unturned in this day and age. I don’t think there’s anything that hasn’t been photographed yet, so you have to do it with a different twist. The way the world is going, nobody cares about quality. It’s about quantity and quickness. It’s happening so fast that you’re trying to keep up, but you’re trying to keep the integrity of the craft and the art. And then there’s new technology that doesn’t give a f— about none of that, that can take you out completely. And then you’re nothing anymore. You’re worthless.
The only thing that is worth something is the archive — the old stuff, because it’s nostalgic. It’s a part of history. It has a story. So what I am going to have is my 30 years of archives that you can’t AI and you can’t ChatGPT because it’s 30 years old. That’s one of my prized possessions.
SO: When I think about your archive, so much of it shows your relationship with L.A. How has your perspective evolved over 30 years?
EO: Whenever I travel, everybody always brings up Hollywood. Like, “Have you ever met David Hasselhoff or Pamela Anderson?” They think everybody’s at the beach all day. I rarely go to the beach because there’s s— in the water. It’s not what people think. You know, palm trees, sunny beaches. I’m running around in the city, so that’s what I see. I was part of the lowrider culture before I was part of the photography world, so I was showing what I was around earlier on, which was hip-hop and lowriding.
SO: Are there any art exhibits that significantly influenced you?
EO: I went to a Dennis Hopper exhibit at MOCA [in 2010]. All his photography, all black and white. It was [maybe] 100 photos, all 16 x 20 or bigger. When I saw it, I was blown away.
One, I was a fan of his movies. Two, I was a fan of his photos. Three, [by the time] he was in a museum by himself, he was dead already, which was sad. He had exhibitions at the Ace Gallery before of his paintings, and that was cool, but the exhibit that they had for him after he died of just his photographs blew all those away. And I walked into that thing like, I got this. Give me a shot at this, and I’ll f—ing knock people’s socks off.
I have a pretty cool collection of photos and things that I’ve seen and that I think people like because I’ve seen their reaction when I’ve had exhibitions before. People laugh, people cry, people get happy, people get mad. And that’s what you want your art to do to people, is bring out emotion, right? If it doesn’t, you missed the mark.
SO: Who are some of your favorite people that you like to collaborate with?
EO: Pops [Eriberto Oriol, father] is number one. He started off as an activist and a community organizer in San Diego, organizing medical centers and dental centers for people in the neighborhood that couldn’t afford it. There were things that he needed to document, and couldn’t always find a photographer, so he picked up the camera and started taking the photos himself to show people that these are the problems.
Estevan wears Estevan Oriol shirt, his own sunglasses, Levi’s jeans.
Estevan Oriol, “Eriberto,” 2022
Twenty years later, when I was a tour manager, he was seeing things that I was around. He said, “Hey, take this camera and see what you can do with it.” At first, it’s embarrassing to carry a big clunky camera. Now it’s cool to take your phone out. Back then, it was the worst thing ever if you took photos of yourself. Like, what’s wrong with you? Who sets a camera up and takes a photo of themselves? Hardly anybody did that back in the day.
SO: I didn’t know that about your dad — that he started taking pictures as proof of the issues that needed to be addressed in the community.
EO: I was thinking about it the other day for the first time, believe it or not. Like, why do I like taking pictures of the protests and the action of all that? And I couldn’t figure out the reason. Why do I like getting shot with tear gas and rubber bullets and pepper spray? Why do I subject myself to that? Why am I just not sitting at home like everybody else and watching it on the news and just posting?
And I thought back to it, and I was like, that s— is in my blood. My dad did that to me. The things that he did throughout the years — I’m a proud son. I just love to see my dad’s photos. He’s 83 years old, and he shoots every day.
Nowadays, I see him out there during protests, and I’m like, “What are you doing out here, Dad?” He likes the feeling of being out there too. You have your finger on the pulse. It’s adrenaline. I feel alive.
SO: The thing that you told me last week that still really resonates with me is when you were going through the thousands of submissions from the open call for the big Superchief gallery photo show earlier this year, and you were like, “I never wanna do another photo of a lowrider or a guy holding a gun again.” And you were talking with graffiti artist Chaz Bojórquez …
EO: I was asking him, “How do you feel when people copy you? Your style.” Because when we were growing up, the guys in hip-hop called it “biting.”
SO: Yes. I am of that era.
EO: And biting his style means somebody copying your style, like a copycat. So I was like, “Hey, man. I see your influence on so many people’s stuff, and you’re one of the pioneers in it. You’re in museums, but then you have these people copying you. Do you feel like some type of competitiveness?” Because I noticed a lot of photographers copying my style, and some of them don’t even know it’s my thing. They don’t even see themselves copying me. They’re like, “Oh, that’s a different car and a different girl in front of a different liquor store. That’s not copying you.”
And [Chaz] goes, “Well, you gotta be more Estevan Oriol than Estevan Oriol.”
At first, I was kinda mad. Like, what the f— does he mean by that? How can I be more me than me? And then I thought about it, and I was like, “You gotta elevate yourself more. You gotta pull yourself up, more and more each time. You gotta do better.”
Recently, I heard Mike Tyson when he was training with, maybe Cus D’Amato? Or maybe the next guy?
SO: Teddy Atlas?
EO: Yeah. They said, “Hey, good job today, Mike.” And he goes, “Tomorrow will be better.” Meaning, he’s gonna be a better Mike Tyson than he was today. That sounds so simple that it makes you kinda mad, but then you just gotta push yourself that much more. It’s like he’s telling you: Challenge yourself.
SO: Estevan, what keeps you up at night?
EO: Stress of creative projects. I’ve had a couple of books that were supposed to come out two years ago that I can’t decide on the cover or some dumb s—. Then there’s bills. And then there’s health. And then there’s the end of the world. Those things keep me up at night.
In the relay race, I’m the last person with the last baton, and everybody’s in front of me, but I know I can win. I just have to step it up. And that’s how I feel at night when I’m going to bed.
SO: Are we essentially alone in this world?
EO: Meaning what?
SO: I don’t know. [Pause.] I have a beautiful family, a great husband and amazing kids, a pretty good circle of friends. But there are times where it’s still kind of a lonely existence. But it’s not necessarily a bad feeling because I know I can rely on me.
EO: Yeah.
SO: All the blessings that people like to tell you you have, it’s beautiful and reassuring and brings me happiness and comfort. But in the end, it feels like it’s just me. And I wonder if you ever have that feeling?
EO: Yeah. Right here. This [gestures to us]. This is when I feel that.
Seulgi, right, wears Joker T-shirt, Firmé Atelier blazer, vintage Levi’s jeans and her own jewelry.
Like, you’re my friend. I don’t feel alone right now. I need help with a project, Rene [Casamalhuapa, assistant] helps me. I’m not alone. Lucky [Luciano, Joker brand partner] helps me. I’m not alone. Eve [Mauro, film projects partner] helps me. I’m not alone. But when I’m having anxiety and I’m stressing, I’m driving on the freeway, I’m alone. When I’m lying in my bed at night and all this is going on, I’m alone. But you and me building on a project, we’re not alone. Like, we are cooking. I’m cutting the meat. You’re cutting the vegetables. We’re not alone.
SO: When you think about your legacy, what does that mean to you? Do you think about what sort of legacy you want to leave behind?
EO: For me, all my friends who have passed, I try to keep their legacy alive. They’re not here anymore to do it — they might have gotten taken off this planet, not by their choice, and they were doing some cool s—, and I don’t ever want that to be forgotten, so I’ll continue to put out their legacy every chance I get.
Hopefully there are people who think like me about my legacy after I’m gone, but hopefully whatever my legacy is, I’ll be able to show it while I’m here. That’d be great if I got that Dennis Hopper show at MOCA now, while I’m alive. That’s what I want to do with my dad. I want to put out his legacy of things that he’s done with his photography and his art now, so he can enjoy this and people appreciate it. I want to give him his flowers now while he’s here.
Estevan wears Estevan Oriol shirt, his own sunglasses, Levi’s jeans and Nike shoes.
Seulgi Oh is a storyteller, traveler and mother born in Seoul, bred in NYC and repping L.A. all day. She is a creative consultant, cultural connector and community cheerleader.
