From the quiet landscapes of America’s National Parks to the bustling streets of the world’s great cities, Xiomáro’s lens captures more than just images—it tells stories. As an internationally exhibited artist and curator, his work breathes new life into historic sites, documenting their cultural and natural significance while also preserving candid moments of urban life as future history.
Commissioned by the National Park Service and featured in prestigious exhibitions across the U.S., Europe, and China, Xiomaro’s photography has drawn the attention of The New York Times, the Boston Globe, and major news networks like CBS and ABC. His journey, however, is as compelling as his work. Once a corporate litigator and entertainment attorney, a life-changing battle with cancer led him to find solace and purpose in photography. Now, through his art, writing, and upcoming books on street photography, he continues to frame the world with a unique perspective that merges history, philosophy, and personal transformation.
In this interview, Xiomaro shares insights into his creative process, his passion for preservation, and the profound experiences that shaped his artistic vision.
If your photographs could whisper secrets to their viewers, what would they reveal about the places and people they capture?
My photographs would whisper “there’s a lot we can learn about ‘the other’ and about ourselves from people and places of the past and the present. That we’re all fundamentally the same. If we take the time to look carefully, we’ll find extraordinary beauty embedded within the ordinary.”
Your work often reimagines historical sites—if you could time travel to one of them before it became a landmark, what moment would you capture, and why?
I’m starting a National Park Service commission to photograph George Washington’s birthplace in Virginia. If I could travel back in time to that place, I’d create an artistic photographic documentary series about Washington so that we can get a better sense of how his upbringing shaped his character. As the military commander of the American Revolution, he voluntarily stepped away from power at the conclusion of the war. Washington also admonished an army colonel for advising that he be made the “King” of America. Finally, after two terms as president, Washington chose to not seek reelection. Washington’s strong moral convictions, exceptional leadership skills, and commitment to public service should be the model followed in Washington, DC, and in seats of power around the world.
In an era saturated with digital perfection, your images maintain a raw, almost tactile quality. What imperfection in photography do you embrace the most, and how does it shape your artistic vision?
I like blurs, grain, accidental intrusions that create interesting juxtapositions, and dark shadows even if they go to pure black. I use to paint, so my aesthetic inspiration is mostly drawn from the works of the masters — Goya, Rembrandt, Vermeer or the Impressionists — rather than from photography. Too many photographers get hung up on sharpness, having everything brightly lit, and exaggerating saturation, HDR, and other settings where the images look like graphics or cartoons. Men in particular seem to enjoy fiddling with the technology instead of concentrating on the soul of the person or the place. I’ve seen photographs of women, who are already beautiful, processed to the point where they look like mannequins. The compositions are such that their body parts get all the attention, but their faces are awkward or vacuous.
If one of your photographs were to be adapted into a short film, which image would you choose, and how would the narrative unfold?
It has already been done! But it was Pete Hegseth’s choice. Before he became the controversial Secretary of Defense, Hegseth produced a documentary about Theodosia Ford for Fox Nation, the cable TV station. Ford was a widow who endured great hardship when she voluntarily gave up her New Jersey home for George Washington and his entourage to use as a military headquarters during the Revolutionary War. I had already photographed the home extensively and presented the first exhibition about Theodosia at Women’s Rights National Historical Park. So Hegseth’s team asked for permission to use my photographs to illustrate the documentary. Although I’m not a fan of right wing politics, I give Hegseth credit for doing a documentary on an unsung female historical figure. When I proposed an exhibition on Theodosia to the National Women’s Hall of Fame, who presumably are to the left of Hegseth, they turned it down without giving a reason after two years of follow-ups and discussion.
But, if I were to choose, it’s my portrait of Manuel Oliver that I’d like to see adapted into a short film. It’s a powerful image where you can see the intensity in his face advocating for gun control legislation. His son was murdered in the Valentine’s Day mass shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. The Specials, a seminal ska punk band from the UK, invited me to their concert in Brooklyn. They gave Manuel the stage to speak about gun control and I photographed him afterwards. So the film would start at that concert and then work backwards to tell the story of what brought him to that stage.
Much of your work bridges the past and present. Do you ever feel like a historian in disguise, and how do you balance documentation with personal expression?
I was described in a PBS episode as “a historian through the lens.” I’m not a professional historian, but I’ve always had an interest in the subject. I read up on the history before a project commences. Then, when I walk into a room that was the home or workplace of a president, poet, or painter, I try to imagine what it was like to be that person and how they would have interacted with the space. I also play the role of the first-time visitor and think about what they should know and what might interest them. Ultimately, it all gets filtered through my own personality, experience, and aesthetic. That process is how I think I strike the balance between documentation and personal expression. I take a similar approach when I photograph candid life on the streets of New York for preservation as future history. As a native son, I’m already familiar with the history and current events, but I do think about what someone decades from now should know or might find interesting.
You've photographed places steeped in history, but if you were to create a completely imaginary landscape that embodies your artistic philosophy, what would it look like?
Some may find my oeuvre of historical sites, landscapes, still lifes, and urban streets a bit wide ranging — not to mention that I am also an active writer, speaker, workshop teacher, and musician. So my imaginary landscape would be just as diverse. It would be a lot like what you see in my New York City street photography. The city has this great chaotic mashup of contemporary and historical architecture; fashion, art, and commercialism; sophistication and crassness; businesspeople, workers, and strugglers; local residents and global tourists; and a multitude of languages, ethnicities, and age groups. Yet, all of these layers create an invigorating synergy. I suppose it’s why Fonthill Media in the UK chose to publish my next book, Street Photography of New York City — Street Haunting in the Big Apple.
Photography is often described as capturing a moment, but do you ever feel like your work is more about what is missing rather than what is present? What do you intentionally leave out?
A lot of photography is a curation. It’s about exclusion. Authoring a book, writing a song, or preparing to speak to an audience are also about editing the content down to its essence. It’s easy to become overwhelmed when one enters Times Square, a national park, or a president’s house. There’s so much to look at and experience that one tends to focus on the obvious — the things we’re already familiar with from what we’ve seen on television, a book, or online. When folks visit Radio City Music Hall, for example, they are likely to photograph its iconic marquee. When I photographed it, I intentionally eliminated all the cliches. Instead, I photographed these small sculptures of faces that largely go unnoticed. They are part of the grating above the stage entrances. So I try to open eyes to the hidden beauty lurking within the vastness of the ordinary. In other compositions I’ve left out the sky or other establishing elements. In doing so, the scene — based in reality — becomes an almost incomprehensible abstraction to reveal another facet of beauty.
Interview by Irina Rusinovich