Suerte Zine

The first time I came to Suerte was as a guest. I, like so many others, had read about their house-made masa and took my partner Madelyn out for a celebratory dinner after a successful interview with a creative agency she would go on to work for.

We moved to Austin a few weeks later on December 1, 2018, I interviewed at Suerte two days later and started working a few days after that. So for me, my experience of living in Austin had always included working at Suerte.

In mid-March, that experience changed drastically as restaurants around the country were forced to make the difficult decision to layoff entire workforces. Sam, the owner of Suerte, Fermín the executive chef, and the management team had to make that same difficult decision. But unlike many employers who simply showed their former employees the door, the team at Suerte decided that they were going to show up for their people in a way that I had personally never experienced.

For over two months following the initial shelter-in-place order in Austin, thirteen of my former coworkers, managers, chefs, and the owner of the restaurant would go on to make enough food to make sure that every single former employee and their family members had delicious food to eat as we all scrambled to figure out what was next. Their generosity has left a lasting impact on me.

As a way of saying thank you, I decided to make a small book of portraits of the thirteen people who stayed on at Suerte, cooking food for us every single day. My goal was to capture some of the beauty that has been a part of this crazy experience. What I love about these portraits is how serene and confident everyone looks. Despite a challenging situation, the Suerte community continues to press onwards.

I shot the book on medium format film and used only two rolls of film. I shot a total of 20 frames and only printed books for the people I photographed. Creating those limitations made me feel like I was making something precious.

If you live in Austin and are thinking about where to grab take out, you should feel really good about doing it at Suerte. Not only will it be some of the best food you’ve ever had, but you’ll be supporting an incredibly generous group of people running their business the right way. I would highly recommend grabbing their Suadero taco kit, the esquites, and whatever seasonal dessert they’re offering. If you don’t live in Austin, but plan on coming at some point and want to support them, think about buying a gift card.

If you run your own business near Austin and would be interested in creating a similar type of book for your employees, I’d be excited to collaborate. Feel free to reach out.

Protests and Privilege

I, like so many people throughout the country, have been overwhelmed with emotion following the killings of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd and countless other unarmed black men and women at the hands of police. As a photographer living in Austin, when I saw that protests were scheduled in the city that has become my home I felt ready to use my skill set as a photographer to channel the anger, sadness, and pain that I was feeling into something positive. 

People march from the Texas Capitol building in Austin on Sunday, May 31st to protest the police killings of Mike Ramos in Austin and George Floyd in Minneapolis.

Protestors gather in front of the Austin Police Department Headquarters on Saturday, May 30th.

“When I have my camera on me, I don’t forget that I’m a black human being”

— Chris Facey

As I posted my own images and scrolled through various social media feeds, I saw a growing collection of images from protests in every major city and beyond, but also a growing conversation about responsible documentation and representation in the photojournalism community surrounding the specific events taking place.

Scrolling through Instagram, Chris Facey’s words quoted from his piece with the New Yorker reminded me of my privilege.

“When I have my camera on me, I don’t forget that I’m a black human being”

As many people posted black squares in solidarity on “Blackout Tuesday”, Andre Wagner added to Facey’s sentiment.

“I'm sorry I can't do this blackout y'all--my everyday life has a been a protest...I've been crying the past few days out of frustration of wanting to tell more photo stories of my brothers and sisters but also wrestling with the feeling like it's not safe for me to do the work I've been called to do. Since the birth of this medium, black photographers' voices have been suppressed, though I feel strongly that we need to have work by people that understand what it feels like to be in this black body.”

As a white male photographer, I have the privilege to wear my camera—even in an incredibly tense situation with police officers—without considering my race, gender, or how I will be perceived. It’s incredibly important to recognize that privilege, especially now. As David Gonzalez put it on Facebook, “Now is NOT time to handicap which foto of Black suffering will win a Pulitzer. Especially now when your POC colleagues are worried about the safety of their fam, lives and community.”

On one hand, I believe it’s important that I use my privilege as a white photographer to go out and shoot. But in doing so I have to be conscious that my work does not take precedence over Black suffering, re-traumatize communities of color, or endanger the people I am photographing especially if those people are from an already marginalized community. I must also remember that Black and other POC photographers have been historically marginalized within the photojournalism community and elevate their voices as I tell my own stories.

The Authority Collective has created this valuable document for photographers hoping to create powerful work without causing harm. It’s specifically about photographing police brutality protests, but I think a lot they bring up can be extrapolated to other types of work.

Quoted in that document, filmmaker Ligaiya Romero explains:

“As photographers/filmmakers, we need to ask ourselves, is this image sousveillance (from the bottom pointing up, holding power-holders and oppressors accountable) or are we furthering surveillance (from the top pointing down, adding to a history of violence and surveillance of Black, Indigenous, and POC bodies, and creating a document that can be used to further that violence)?”

Checking Instagram on Monday afternoon, I saw an Instagram post from Nolan Trowe:

“Are your images hurting or helping?” he asked. Thinking back, I could clearly answer that question during Saturday’s protests. I wanted to thoughtfully showcase what I was seeing which included mostly peaceful protesting with some tense moments between protesters and police. I felt that my images accurately depicted the reality I saw while ensuring the safety of the people I was photographing—I felt that my images were helpful. At the same time, asking if my images are helping or hurting as I’m shooting brings up the possibility that I could be censoring my images.

While objectivity is at the foundation of photojournalism, the Authority Collective once again explains,

“When photojournalists use objectivity as a framework to excuse dangerous practices such as identifying vulnerable protesters, they are failing to see how they benefit from a political structure that encourages "objectivity" as a mode of oppression.”

As I arrived to Austin’s City Hall on Sunday afternoon, I felt differently than I had Saturday. As the Austin Justice Coalition canceled their official protest, I saw a larger number of agitators alongside a growing number of individuals wearing the subtle suggestions of white supremacy. I did not feel compelled to document the potential conflict. I should note that I was not on assignment so I was able to make that decision.

As I left City Hall I walked by Central Christian Church. I saw a woman who introduced herself as Janet Maykus, a Senior Minister standing quietly, but with purpose in front of her church. 

She explained to me, “I wanted to be a calming presence” and specifically called out the white men she had seen driving by yelling things like “Start the revolution!” and “Burn it down!” She went onto say, “It’s not our [white people’s] place to say that...In crowds, things happen...it insights anger and aggression. I don’t want anyone to be hurt, I want voices to be heard.”

Her words resonated as I reflected on how photography has the potential to both uplift or harm its subjects.

“Start the revolution! Burn it down!”

“It’s not our [white people’s] place to say that...In crowds, things happen...it insights anger and aggression. I don’t want anyone to be hurt, I want voices to be heard.”

Janet Maykus, Senior Minister at Central Christian Church

So many prestigious photography awards and the photojournalism industry in general often rewards photographers who capitalize on the pain of already marginalized communities. As members of various photography communities, we—white photographers especially—must make a more concerted effort to stop making those types of pictures especially when we are not part of the communities we are documenting.

I wouldn't expect my photos of the protests in Austin to win awards, but I've decided that as a white photographer I won't be submitting my images for any awards. I would encourage other white photographers to consider doing the same. To be clear, I only photographed the protests in Austin for less than a day and a half. I know that I am not making any real personal sacrifice by choosing not to submit my images for any awards.

Of course, the issues David Gonzalez and the Authority Collective raise don’t start with people submitting photos to win awards, but rather taking them in the first place. That being said, change can only come from within the photojournalism community if white photographers make conscious choices to relinquish the power we have and elevate marginalized voices. 

I don’t expect that all white photojournalists will decide to skip submitting their images of the ongoing protests against police brutality. But what if they did? Of course Black photographers have the talent to win those awards on their own, but wouldn’t that be a powerful form of solidarity from within the photojournalism community?

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A few days removed from last weekend’s events, I am seeing a lot of powerful images that reveal some of the shortcomings of my own documentation of last weekend’s events. The police did severely and even critically injure protesters, which is something I didn’t capture thoroughly.

The photos in this post wouldn’t negatively impact anyone, but did I leave out an important part of the story?

Because I wasn’t on assignment I approached the protests in a way that was more about documenting my own experience rather than capturing the news as a photojournalist. A big part of me also very simply didn’t want to get sprayed with mace or shot with sandbags—something many other photojournalists have endured in the last week. 

Again this makes me think about my own privilege as a white man not directly impacted by police brutality. I recognize that reflecting on my own privilege within a specific industry feels self-indulgent to a certain extent when people’s lives are at stake. I recognize that this topic and conversation is one of many that I need to be having.

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If you have any comments, responses, or criticism regarding this post or my work more broadly I’m open to hearing it all. I will continue to educate myself, consider the intentional and unintentional impacts of my work, and spark conversations with friends, acquaintances, and strangers.

I am personally making my way through this document: Resources for Photographers and Beyond on Anti-Racism. It was also compiled by the Authority Collective.

I’ll finish this post with a short list of Black photographers, artists, editors, and organizations whose work and presence on social media have shaped how I personally think about issues of representation within the photography industry. Check out their work, hire them, and buy their books and prints!

Authority Collective
Diversify Photo
Women Photograph
Alexandra Bell
Brent Lewis
Walé Oyéjidé, Esq.
Dana Scruggs
Deana Lawson
Rahim Fortune
Dawoud Bey
Montsho Jarreau Thoth
Gabriella Angotti-Jones
Radcliffe “Ruddy” Roy
Kris Graves
Ibarionex Perello
Joshua Kissi
Adrian Octavius Walker
Miranda Barnes
Chris Facey
Andre Wagner

Desert Empire Print Sale

During the seven-week Joshua Tree Highlands Artist Residency, I logged over 6,000 miles in a rental car. I drove all over the Inland Empire exploring palm tree farms and ghost towns. I traversed Joshua Tree National Park and the Morongo Basin where I observed a rapidly changing physical and cultural landscape. The experience of creating this body of work was incredibly important to me as I am from California and felt a renewed connection with landscapes that felt like home.

I’m currently socially distancing myself in my new home in Austin, Texas where my partner Madelyn and I are rearranging furniture, manicuring our yard, and trying to make our space feel as comforting as possible during these strange times. As many of us are thinking about how to improve and revitalize our homes, I thought it would be a great time to share some prints that I have ready to ship—all they need is an empty wall to fill. All images are an edition of 10 and come mounted on gator foam. My artist statement can be seen here.

If you’re interested in any of these images or if you’d like to know more information about a specific print, send me an email. I intentionally made much of this series with pairs of images in mind. If you’re interested in more than one print I’d be happy to work something out so they can stay together.

City of Smoke

In January of 2017, I traveled to Mongolia to help my friend and fellow reporter Peter Bittner produce a documentary project about the catastrophic pollution problem in Ulaanbaatar. The South China Morning Post recently published a new version of that documentary which gives me the opportunity to share it once again and look back on some of the work I produced during that trip.

In addition to this video, I wanted to share a collection of photos I took in Nalaikh—a mining town that feels like a ghost town reborn.

Check out the video and scroll down to see the images.

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A small-scale mining operation taking place on the grounds of the closed, state-run coal mine at Nalaikh. Nalaikh, shown in the distance, is just under an hour away from Ulaanbaatar. Miners fill and refill as many small trucks as they can each day which are driven to the capital.

Nalaikh was a state-run coal mine originally opened in 1922 as Mongolia’s first industrial mining operation. As a socialist government gave way to democracy in the early ’90s, a combination of shrinking subsidies and one final mining catastrophe lead the government to close and abandon the mine.

At the turn of the twenty-first-century, consecutive zuud—exceptionally harsh winters—decimated animal populations across Mongolia forcing many nomadic herders to move to Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia’s capital city.

A rising need for raw coal to fuel stoves and warm the homes of former herders combined with a high unemployment rate led groups of unskilled laborers to re-enter Nalaikh’s frozen soil in search of untapped coal deposits.

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“Miners risk their lives and health everyday and live in poverty as their work contributes to a pollution problem that has reached catastrophic levels—regularly five times worse than Beijing.”

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Miners bag and shuttle coal sometimes hundreds of meters below the surface.

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Wooden frames keep the mines supported, but there are accidents each year where miners are killed.

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Miners work into the night when temperatures can reach -40 degrees Fahrenheit.

These images are meant to shed light on the realities of contemporary life in urban Mongolia. Nalaikh is a city where urban and rural lifestyles intersect and where government corruption and neglect run rampant. Miners risk their lives and health everyday and live in poverty as their work contributes to a pollution problem that has reached catastrophic levels—regularly five times worse than Beijing.

While nomadic culture has certainly shaped contemporary Mongolian identities, the majority of Mongolia’s population now lives in an urban setting. Mongolian herders often express pride and freedom their lifestyles afford them. Speaking with Ganzorig, a miner at Nalaikh, he explained that even though he realizes that he risks his life working in the mines, “There’s no other choice.”

“There’s no other choice.”

Speaking with Ganzorig, a miner at Nalaikh, he explained that even though he realizes that he risks his life working in the mines, “There’s no other choice.”

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After the coal is mined in Nalaikh, it is driven to distribution centers in Ulaanbaatar where it is broken down by hand and hammer into smaller pieces to be sold by the kilo.

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One of Ulaanbaatar’s ger districts at sunrise during a relatively smogless day. On a good day, the wind will blow the coal smoke away from Ulaanbaatar.

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On a bad pollution day, which is much more common during the winter, Ulaanbaatar’s location in a valley surrounded by mountains keeps the city’s smog trapped.

“Pride of the Southside”

Bowie High School is situated directly along the US-Mexico border in El Paso, Texas. Each day, a large percentage of the Bowie High School soccer team wakes up before 5am to make the long and tedious commute from Juárez to El Paso. American citizens whose extended families often straddle the border, their days start early and end late as their commitment to being student-athletes regularly keeps them on the field until 10 o’clock at night.

The scoreboard at Bowie High School’s Baty-Simmang Memorial Stadium situated directly in front of the US-Mexico border wall in El Paso, Texas.

Bowie High School is in a neighborhood of El Paso called El Segundo Barrio which is part of the city’s South Side. While the entire city of El Paso is impossible to separate from its cultural and familial ties to Mexico and Juárez, the South Side is especially connected to that heritage. Like so many majority black and Hispanic neighborhoods in the US cities, the median income in El Segundo Barrio is among the lowest of El Paso’s neighborhoods. This means that Bowie has to stretch its limited resources for students whose aspirations can include going to college in the US.

The Bowie High School Varsity soccer team warming up for practice the day before their game against El Paso High School.

Yet while many Americans see the border as a highly politicized part of the country,
for these high school students, it’s seen more as an annoyance that complicates and extends their daily commute.

From left, Christian Osorio, Eduardo Moreno, and Carlos Ortega Snow on their morning walk from The Bridge of the Americas border crossing to Bowie. Snow delayed first period at school which gave them time to have a quick snowball fight at the Chamizal National Memorial across the street from Bowie.

Bowie Varsity Soccer Coach Arnold McElroy watches his players as they practice the night before their game against El Paso High School.

Coach McKelroy’s mantras “Don’t waste time!” and “Do it right!” were constantly in players’ ears as he reminded them of the lead that was squandered in a loss to El Paso High last year.

At the same time, Bowie’s teachers and administration are acutely aware of the challenges that many of their students face and have become experts in navigating the different programs and opportunities available to their students.

While many student-athletes cross the border each day, the same opportunity does not always exist for their parents who are not all American citizens. Attendance at most sporting events is low as an inability to cross the border or the financial need to work long hours keeps parents at home or at work during games.

The team huddles with team captain Kevin Ibarra (10) to crack jokes and game plan during half time.

Josh Escarcega (9), Israel Reyes (20), Eduardo Moreno (11), and the rest of the team clap for the fans who braved cold weather to watch their win.

As I was driving to El Paso, I found out that National Geographic had recently published a piece about Bowie High School’s cheerleading team. The photographer Sara Naomi Lewkowicz and reporter Nina Strochlic did an incredible job. I don’t feel that there’s anything I could add to their incredibly thorough reporting work so I’ll have to move on from this story. I’m still glad I made the trip and hope to continue similar reporting work along the border in the near future.

A Year of Stories in Central Texas

It has been exactly a year since I moved to the Lone Star State. I have grown so much as a photographer and really found a home here in Austin. I’ve been thrilled to get a good amount of local freelance work through the Austin American-Statesman and San Antonio Express-News which has allowed me to connect with the communities I am now a part of through my work.

Looking through some of my favorite images from the last year, what has stood out has been the diversity of ideas and experiences that present themselves, sometimes on consecutive days, sometimes in the same image. While often in opposition, each of the individuals in these photos has the same commitment to bettering their world as they see it. Whether that’s a student demanding government action at a climate strike or a minor league pitcher hoping to make it to the big leagues, the Central Texans I have encountered are committed to actively creating a better future for themselves, their families, and their communities.

In the next year, I hope to reach a deeper level of connection with local communities in Central Texas and Texas more broadly and tell increasingly more compelling stories.

A “Texas Welcomes All” podium stands empty in the Old Texas Supreme Court at the State Capitol before a news conference on March 27, 2019. Representatives from the business and tourism sectors argued against lawmakers voting for a series of drafted bills that would allow businesses to refuse service to members of LGBTQ+ communities along religious grounds.

A crowd of predominantly school-aged protesters gathers at a climate strike at the Texas Capitol building in Austin. This climate strike was a part of a series of September 19, 2019 protests that took place in cities all over the globe.

Eisa Rafat, carried by his friend Msaed Almasri, uses a megaphone to engage with the growing crowd at a climate strike at the Texas State Capitol.

Pastor Stephen Broden of the Fair Park Bible Fellowship Church in Dallas, Texas leads a prayer to end a news conference for “Save Chick-fil-A Day” and rally for religious freedom at the Texas State Capitol.

Patrick Von Dohlen, a candidate for San Antonio City Council District 9, speaks at an April 17, 2019 news conference at the Texas Capitol in Austin promoting religion freedom. The San Antonio City Council voted against Chick-fil-A opening at the San Antonio International Airport with council members citing the company’s financial contributions to anti-LGBTQ+ organizations as their reason for opposition.

Close-ups from a Gun Owners of America rally on August 22, 2019 at the Texas State Capitol. Gun rights activists spoke against restricting open carry in Texas following a deadly shooting at a Walmart in El Paso and consequent legislation drafted to combat gun violence in Texas.

Outfielder Yordan Alvarez (left), outfielder Kyle Tucker (center), and pitcher Forrest Whitley (right) pose during the 2019 media day for the Round Rock Express, the minor league, triple-A affiliate of the Houston Astros.

Kyle Tucker (left) and Yordan Alvarez (right) started their 2019 season with the Round Rock Express and ended it playing game seven in the World Series for the Houston Astros. Forrest Whitley (center) had a disappointing season in the minors, but is still considered a top prospect and hopes to make the major league Astros next season.

Shawneen Townsend and her husband Jeff Townsend pose with a finished tray of chile rellenos at their family’s annual chile fry in Buda, Texas. Jeff isn’t humble about his wife’s cooking describing the finished product as “one of the best meals you’ll ever have…They’re so good they breach your senses.”

Mark Townsend, who has taken the lead at his mother Shawneen’s chile relleno frys, takes a break from frying chiles to jump on the trampoline with his son Ellison.

El Paso-style chile relleno with all the fixings made by Shawneen Townsend and her family. Their annual chile relleno fry always takes place towards the end of August to mark the beginning of hatch chile season.

Tea with Montsho

Montsho pours tea into a gong dao bei or justice cup.

Each component in the Chinese tea pouring tradition has a practical purpose. The gong dao bei, which translates to the justice cup or fairness pitcher, serves the purpose of homogenizing the different strengths of tea coming out of a teapot. 

See its importance here.

Montsho Jarreau Thoth

“The tea found me.”

Montsho pours tea for himself every day, often multiple times a day, but he is always open to share that experience with anyone willing to slow down to his pace.

Montsho’s introduction into traditional Chinese tea pouring came unexpectedly, as he puts it “The tea found me.”

Diagnosed with leukemia in 2014, a friend brought a small gaiwan, a Chinese lid and bowl tea setup, to the hospital where he was recovering. 

Even before this introduction to Chinese tea pouring, Montsho had been pouring yerba mate at parties.

“I had social anxiety about bouncing around. Pouring tea allowed people to come to me.”

So while the social aspects of tea pouring were nothing new for Montsho, stumbling upon the Chinese tradition was enlightening for him. The tea itself was much more complex and nuanced and he found the system itself equally enthralling.

Needless to say, Montsho became fascinated with traditional Chinese tea pouring. Simultaneously, he was still recovering from the intense leukemia treatments he had gone through.

“I was over drinking [alcohol] as a culture because I couldn’t really participate...Even being around cigarette smoke wasn’t good for me.” Tea, by contrast, “made my body feel good, it made me heal.”

“When people see me pouring tea in this way, it can expand their idea of what a Black, male-bodied person can be.”

Embedding himself in Austin’s small, but vibrant tea pouring community Montsho also quickly found that “People love together around tea.”

As I sat drinking the tea Montsho poured me, I felt that love. The time and effort he had put into learning everything he possibly could about this specific practice were communicated through intentional thought and movement. The pouring itself became as much a part of the experience as the liquid I was drinking.

As Montsho explains it, “Myself and the tea plant…are having a conversation. You are witness to that conversation. And to the degree that I can have a good, respectful conversation with the tea, that’s the degree to which you will enjoy watching and bearing witness as the person being served.”

As Montsho continued his conversation with the tea, we continued our own. He spoke of his experiences traveling through rural China meeting and learning from tea farmers, he recanted proverbs “Chan Cha Yi Wei—Tea and Zen are of one flavor”, and spoke of “cultural engineering” an idea that was foremost in his mind.

As a cultural engineer Montsho sees himself as doing more than simply pouring tea. “When people see me pouring tea in this way, it can expand their idea of what a Black, male-bodied person can be. When Black people have tea with me...it gives them license to participate in culture that is not necessarily their own, but that with study and intention could be.”

As I watched Montsho effortlessly and comfortably engage in a tradition that he has clearly made his own, I felt that his example would give anyone agency to pursue something outside of what is expected of them.

In a way, I came to see Montsho as a living embodiment of a justice cup.

The energy he puts out into the world is infectious and the environment he creates as he pours tea has the potential to promote connection and inclusivity.

Leaving his daily tea pouring I felt more open, awake, and enlightened by the experience and conversation. Montsho was quick to point out the positive effects that can be attributed to the caffeine and theanine found in the tea we were drinking. But a lot of it had to do with the environment he created, the intention he set as he poured his afternoon tea.

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Montsho often pours tea at Guan Yin Tea House in Austin, Texas. You can follow his tea-related endeavors on Instagram @slowhandtea and his photography and art-making @montsho.

Capturing a Weeknight Dinner for the New York Times

My assignment was to shoot a weeknight dinner at a multigenerational home in Laredo, Texas. My day included just under 500 miles of driving to and from Laredo and 3 hours of shooting once I got there. I was thrilled to be included in this beautiful, worldwide collaboration of photographers, but wanted to share some of the images I captured during the assignment that weren’t published.

Here’s a link to the published piece. Scroll down to the “Texas, United States” section to see my image.

An American flag flies outside of the Garza family’s home in Laredo, Texas.

Grayson, his brother Emric, and mother Alyssa play as grandmother Patti Garza prepares dinner at their home in Laredo, Texas.

Grayson helps his grandmother Patti prepare dinner at their home in Laredo, Texas.

Fabian Garza, a middle school English teacher, communicates with his students as his wife Patti Garza prepares dinner in their home in Laredo, Texas.

Alyssa Garza, having just woken up, plays with her sons Emric and Grayson before heading to work the night shift at a nearby Love’s truck stop in Laredo, Texas.

The Garza family sits down for dinner.

Grayson relaxes and watches “American Ninja Warrior” after dinner before getting ready for bed.

Grayson and his family’s Siamese cat Anayha play after dinner.

A crowd of predominantly school-aged protesters gathers at a climate strike at the Texas Capitol building in Austin. This climate strike was a part of a series of September 19, 2019 protests that took place in cities all over the globe.

"The Marathon Continues"

Rapper Nipsey Hussle was tragically shot and killed on March 31, 2019 in front of his own store, The Marathon Clothing, in South Los Angeles. While his presence and positive influence were certainly felt most in South LA where he grew up, his murder has been met nationally with an outpouring of support as his work as a rapper and community leader has come into the spotlight.

Ink Empire, a tattoo shop at Chicon and Rosewood in Austin, Texas.

Tracy and his wife Matilda Honey have made East Austin home for their tattoo shop. Working together with one of their artists, Raymond “Rage” Mendoza (shown here), they put up a mural to honor Nipsey on the outside of their shop.

Tracy (left) pulls up a YouTube interview with Nipsey (0:36) from early in his career to explain why he was such an inspiration. When asked why he wasn’t “blinging” like so many other rappers Nipsey explains, “All that is cool for the image and all that, but all them is liabilities ya feel me? I’d rather invest in some real estate...invest in some assets as opposed to trick off my money on some liabilities like diamonds...cars that lose value as soon as you drive them off the lot...A real asset, take care of my people.”

Tracy explains, “First and foremost, we’re a black-owned business, which is something I take pride in. It’s not as praised as it should be.” Nipsey may have been a famous rapper at the time of his death, but he certainly came from humble beginnings. “Someone like Nipsey shows you there’s no limit. That’s someone I want to be like.”

In addition to Nipsey’s business-minded attitude, he also preached unity. As a self-proclaimed Compton Crip, Nipsey made a point of collaborating with rappers from his rival gang, the Bloods. In his video for “Last Time That I Checc’d” he raps alongside YG both wearing their respective gang colors—blue and red. While Nipsey stopped gangbanging when he shifted his energy and focus to rapping, he didn’t shy away from his past.

“We have a tattoo shop. Who's to say we can’t have a burger spot, a barber shop?” While Tracy and Matilda’s business is still young, Tracy pointed to a couple of lines from Nipsey’s last release “Racks In The Middle” which stuck out to him. “Champagne while I shop, hope I splurge foolish / Closin' escrow twice this month, both commercial units”.

From left to right, Raymond “Rage” Mendoza, Matilda Honey, and Tracy at Ink Empire tattoo shop on Chicon and Rosewood in Austin, Texas.

In a neighborhood where countless black businesses have closed, Ink Empire seems like it’s here to stay.