In Conversation With : Antonio Salazar
“IN CONVERSATION WITH” IS A CONVERSATIONAL INTERVIEW SERIES WHERE WE SIT DOWN WITH CONTEMPORARY ARTISTS AND DISCUSS TOPICS THAT ARE IMPORTANT TO THEM.
(All conversations are recorded, and transcribed by BrassTuna.)
This conversation has been edited for length and clarity
[Conversation recorded on September 24, 2025]
Antonio Salazar: “I'm Manuel Antonio Salazar.
I was born in East Los Angeles, California, and at the age of twelve years old my family suddenly moved us to Phoenix, Arizona.
That's where my photographic journey started and continues to this day.
I document mainly Chicano/Mexicano/Latinx communities of South Phoenix, West Phoenix, and pretty much all over Arizona.
I use symbolism just to preserve, and kind of tell a little more of a personal story ,,, adding more detail to this monolith of my people.
To share my own perspective, because ,,, I know we are not all one thing ,,, we are all individuals and have our own paths and journeys, so it's nice to kind of document in that way.”
BrassTuna: How has exploring South Phoenix and its Mexican/Chicano culture shaped your understanding of community and identity?
Antonio Salazar: “I would say it mainly reinforced ideas ,,, but did give me a unique perspective coming from a big city where it's kind of a mecca for Mexicanos/Latinos from everywhere.
I kind of already had that experience growing up out there, with family and friends, so moving out here, it gave me a real personal view of it.
Like ,,, almost like a microscopic view ,,, I dissected different interactions with people in the community.
And in South Phoenix, in West Phoenix, and all over, it just really reinforced a lot of beliefs of like, ‘what all our people share as far as common struggles.’ Family members, machismo, all kinds of crazy things that our families put up with.
But it also kind of showed me ,,, I don’t want to say evil ,,, because that’s such a heavy word. It showed me another side of our people, who are just basically surviving. Anything goes kind of deal, and it just framed everything in a very real way. It's not all love, and we are all brothers and sisters, and we all help each other.
Sometimes it's the other side, and sometimes it's everyone against everyone, and we have to figure out what we are going to do with our family members, and it's here and there.
I guess that's what it did, and it doesn't take away from the fact that there is a community and there is love in it.”
“In our culture and in our identity, but it just seemed so raw, even though that's so corny to say, but it seems so heavy with certain people that I met. Family members not helping each other ,,, like everything is very family-centered and family-based ,,, and it was kind of eye-opening, and it was almost kind of sad to see that.
But, on the flip side, of course ,,, of course there's the other side where people are caring and loving, and someone's nana welcomes you inside their house. They feed you, and you literally met these people that day, and they don't care; it's beautiful.”
“I guess it really just reinforced everything that I thought, which is that we survive with each other and we try to survive without each other, and you know, it's hard some days. It's easy other days. Yeah, it made everything very very very real.
It's not always love, but it's not always hate either.”
BrassTuna: Can you recall a moment when photographing an ordinary scene in South Phoenix that revealed a deeper meaning or challenged your point of view?
Antonio Salazar: “Yeah, it was actually a friend of mine who I met through low riding and going to all the car meets. He invited me to his house ,,, he stayed on the south side, off of Dobbins, right by South Mountain.
We were at his house, and his dad was there; it was all love, just hanging out.
There was this really soft moment between these two men, it was his son and then his dad. The light was really warm, and my friend was sitting at his dining room table, and his dad was on the silhouette on the outside of him.
When you see the light ,,, you see, mainly, my friend, and his son, and you see the father kind of in the shadows ,,, you don't fully see the details of his face though.
It just looked like ,,, you know, when children make these core memories, you can tell.
Like ‘first time at Disneyland’ or ‘first time swimming,’ and you know, as the older brother or parent, you know that they are going to remember this.
I always wondered if that continues on as you get older and start to worry about real-life things ,,, you start to worry about your own family.
Do you still have those same connections with your elders, or like your mom and dad? And yeah, you do, but it was really cool and kind of surreal to happen in real time.”
“Like these two grown men who look like, maybe out on the street, they might be a problem for somebody, not that they are bad at all, they are the best people ever, but you know, seeing them soft with each other, and kind of like, being together like that, that one stuck with me.
I was like, Wow, it doesn’t change. That love doesn’t go away. It’s there, it’s deep, it runs deep, it stays there.
That’s what sat with me, and the fact that we were in this part of town, and this is where they grew up, I was just like, wow. That love is always going to be there. It’s always going to be strong.
And it was beautiful, it softened me up for sure, like in my chest.
Also too because I have some what of an idea of their relationship, as a good friend of mine, he talks to me about his family, I’ve talked with the dad, but yeah, it was really nice to see that continue. Even to see a grown man still with his dad.
That was beautiful, and that moment sticks with me.”
BrassTuna: How does your photography bridge cultural gaps and spark dialogue by highlighting the beauty and complexity within the community?
Antonio Salazar: “I feel like it bridges ,,,
If it bridges anything ,,, I feel like it’s a palatable way for outsiders to understand that in this community and in this place, that ,,, that all kinds of walks of life exist.
And it isn’t just this ,,, I don’t know if people still ride with stereotypes like crazy or how people are painting the picture of our people out here, but I feel like that’s what my work does.
It kind of gets into the details of what it is, and the fabric of what it is.
And into the father-son relationships, father-daughter relationships, and the relationships across generations between the younger and the older.”
“And even in our own, like ‘in between,’ the Chicano way of life, and being what it is to represent chicanismo.
All the way to your own grandparents, who are most likely the ones who came from Mexico, so I feel like it bridges within our own community, but also it’s able to reach across into different areas, galleries, whatever spaces we feel we are not represented enough, or well enough, or we are not the center piece of what it is.
It helps with that, it helps paint a picture, and not just a regular overall “this is what it is” low riders, carne asada, no.
It’s details, it’s your Tatas’ hands, it’s his rings, it’s the way your Nana gets ready to go to church on Sundays.
And now it’s added onto the bigger picture as far as who we are. It’s not simple, it never was, it’s just now, we have the tools to show everyone that it’s not simple. That it deserves to be everywhere. Just like anything high-quality, or avant-garde.
It deserves to be up there, too. And I feel like not just my work, your work, other people we know, the way they document, and the way they add to the fabric of it.”
“I feel like that’s what my work does, and other people’s work does. It creates that little bridge between everyone.
Between our people and the people who aren’t from our people.
There’s an understanding and level or respect of some sort.”
BrassTuna would like to thank artist, and photographer Antonio Salazar for joining us on this special edition of “In Conversation With” interview series.
(All conversations are recorded, and transcribed by BrassTuna.)
This conversation has been edited for length and clarity