I was diving in a cenote in Tulum, Mexico. Inside the cave, it was dark, with big formations that made the environment feel mysterious and a bit intimidating. I spent about an hour inside and then, as I reached the end of the cave and emerged into the open, I was greeted by a scene that felt completely otherworldly. Sunlight filtered through these very colorful water lilies while small fish swam among their stems. I had never seen anything like it.

I experimented with different compositions and techniques, but this image became my favorite as it captured the feeling of being immersed in this wonderful underwater garden. More than documenting a beautiful place, I hope this image allows others to experience the same sense of wonder I felt and invites them to explore nature.

Cenotes—and nature in general—are incredibly beautiful but, as you say, also very fragile. When I started underwater photography, I quickly realized how easy it is to lose awareness of your surroundings when you're looking through a viewfinder. Since then, I've made it a priority to always respect the environment before thinking about the photograph. I'm fortunate to always dive with my wife, who is a marine biologist and dive instructor. Her approach to the ocean has profoundly shaped the way I experience the underwater world and photograph it, teaching me to approach it with patience, humility, and, above all, respect. It’s a philosophy that guides every photograph I take.

This was actually my first—and only—time diving in this cenote. While I really value returning to the same place and allowing an image to evolve—and hopefully improve—with each visit, I also think there’s something special about experiencing a place for the very first time.

Here, I had no expectations and no plan. Every turn revealed something new, and when I emerged from the cave into this incredible scene, I was genuinely speechless. I think that sense of wonder is reflected in the way I photographed the scene.

This is every underwater photographer's challenge! Haha. Everything is always moving—the fish, the lilies, the light, the water... and we're moving too.

Over the years, I've learned that a good image comes more from adapting and becoming part of the environment than trying to control it.

For this image, I first composed the frame around the water lilies and then waited for the fish to naturally swim into the scene. I usually move very slowly, paying close attention to my breathing and my buoyancy. "Underwater Garden" wasn't about chasing a moment but anticipating it.

I like this question. Everything you see in the photograph happened naturally—one of those moments when nature looks almost surreal. So, in that sense, the image is somewhat documentary, but my intention in photography has always gone beyond documentation.

Rather than creating a visual record of a place, I try to create an emotional memory of what it felt like to be there. My hope is that my work sparks curiosity about nature, inspires others to explore it, and ultimately motivates them to protect it.

Massively. In the introduction to our book UNDER WATER, we write that photography is essentially made of two things: light and time. Underwater, those are exactly the two things we have limited amounts of. Underwater photography has taught me that patience isn't passive—it's an active form of observation. Instead of trying to force a photograph, I spend more time observing, anticipating, and allowing the scene to unfold naturally. And sometimes, if patient enough, nature rewards you with a moment that's even more beautiful than the one you had envisioned. I think that lesson extends beyond photography.

Right now, I'm working on a project that I'm incredibly excited about in my home country, the Dominican Republic. Together with my stepdad, José Alejandro Álvarez, with whom I co-founded our Fine Art and Conservation company, Álvarez+Coll Photo, we're exploring the waters that surround our island.

There's something very special about returning home.

Even after more than twenty years diving here, we're still discovering new sites, new behaviors, and new ways of photographing places it.

That's what I hope to keep doing wherever I go—finding fresh perspectives on familiar places and sharing the beauty of the underwater world with others.

This is a difficult question, but my image called “Vanishing Act” is one of my favorites. I vividly remember the moment when I saw this ray disappear into a cloud of sand.

It’s not uncommon to see a ray do this, but that’s what I loved about it, it served as a reminder to stop and watch how more ordinary moments sometimes become the most unexpectedly beautiful. Aside from winning several awards, this photo was also selected by the BBC as one of the 13 best images of 2025... and I still can’t believe that, so this is definitely a very important image for me.