My name is Abdiel “Prez” Cruz. I was born in Chillum, Maryland to Caribbean parents—Puerto Rican father, Afro-Dominican mother—raised on the fault line between D.C. and Maryland. When my mom was grinding through work and life, I stayed with my Titi and fell in love with the city. Other seasons I was on the island—Carolina to Río Grande, landing in Canóvanas—learning the rhythm that still lives in my bones.

My first camera memories are hand-me-downs from the people I love: my mom with a disposable on every outing; my dad stacking moments on a Kodak; my god-sister painting stick figures with light on a Nikon and a slow shutter. That was the spark. I couldn’t afford a camera, so when phones got good enough, I ran them hot—Metro tunnels, downtown D.C., whatever held still long enough to feel like truth.

In the military, shooting was therapy. The frame gave me room to breathe when distance from my son and daily weight pressed in. Back home, I pulled up to my first StreetMeetDC and made images on an iPhone X. Someone joked, “Prez out here trying to be Picasso and sh*t,” and honestly—I was trying to be everything the work demanded.

Then 2021 hit hard. I lost my cousin and put the camera away. Grief took the color out of things.

Fast-forward to 2025: first trip back to Puerto Rico in fifteen years. I rented a Leica Q3 (43 version)—partly out of spite after a YouTube takedown on the price—and from the first frame, on my island, I felt home and free again. Hooked. Back.

Today, with a Leica Q2 in hand, I work in street and documentary—a voice, an archive, a historian; a cuentero / kontè / conteur of the places and people I carry. From the remnants of Chocolate City to the Caribbean and across its diaspora in the United States, my aim is to hold a door open so communities can show themselves how they choose. Unfiltered.