New York’s East Village has always been a haven for strivers, a home for immigrants, artists, poets, and later the place where the punk movement was born. In 1984 I moved there and was fascinated by the young people walking around sporting body metal, torn clothing, tattoos, and chains. I photographed them in the streets, abandoned buildings they called home, and clubs like CBGB where they played their hardcore music. These were young people who were looking for a more authentic way to be and did not see a place for themselves in mainstream society. It was exciting to see something being born in what appeared to be squalor and dissolution. With grit and ingenuity, they took vacant lots filled with rubble and turned them into urban gardens, abandoned buildings into housing, and anger into art, music, and community. Despite the drugs, poverty, and violence that battered the East Village at the time, the creative response was there, raw and beautiful, and that is what interested me.