Larry Clark and Ralph Gibson were introduced at one of the weekly salons that photographer Philip Perkis hosted at his Manhattan apartment in 1967. As Clark recently noted, he was drawn to Gibson “because he always had the most gorgeous women with him. We would go to a coffee shop and he would pick up the waitress. He was my big brother.” More than just his big brother, Gibson was also the publisher of Clark’s seminal series, Tulsa. “When we first became friends I thought it was kind of fascinating that I was doing amphetamines and was awake all the time, and you told me that you slept all the time. You were asleep and I was super-awake,” Clark remarked in an interview with Gibson, who responded: “It’s like night and day.” If their personalities function as opposites that complement each other, so does their work. Clark’s narrative images focus on the human condition, whereas Gibson’s formalist compositions focus on architectural abstractions; yet, a shared aesthetic sensibility—the stark contract between light and shadow renders figures and forms as silhouettes—becomes apparent when examining Print #60 from Clark’s Teenage Lust series and Gibson’s Untitled photograph.