Shooting Flamingos in Pacoima
Having just finished five years of fine arts college courses, there I was, just like Elliot Gould in Little Murders, taking photographs of shit. I can't recall how Mr. Rosen got my phone number but he called, explained the work he wanted done, and we agreed on a price. Once I shared with Hartwig the details of the phone conversation he insisted on coming with me. A few days later Hartwig and I drove out to a residential neighborhood in Pacoima to meet the man who had hired me and take the photographs he wanted. Mr. Rosen lived with his family in a three-bedroom house located at the northeastern end of the San Fernando Valley.
When Hartwig and I arrived and got out of the car we were met by the foul stench that plagued the residents of Pacoima during the 1960s. The ongoing problems with noxious odors had been attributed to various sources including pesticides stored in warehouses, decomposing corpses at the Pacoima Mausoleum, several landfills; auto wrecking yards, cement and asphalt plants, an oil refinery in Newhall, dredging at Hansen Damn and nearby freeways. Prior to his felony convictions, the former Los Angeles City Councilman Richard Alarcon referred to Pacoima as "the dump capital of Southern California."
Mr. Rosen took us into his home and introduced us to his wife and daughter. From the living room we could see the backyard through a set of sliding glass doors. The yard was cut short by a tall chain link fence set atop a concrete wall that stretched across the width of the yard. Mr. Rosen told us it was an open concrete-lined flood control channel that connected the Pacoima Wash to the beginning of the Los Angeles River.
We were treated again to the rancid air when Mr. Rosen took us out into the cramped backyard to show us the kiln he had built. He was trying to make a go of it selling lawn ornaments. He purchased unfinished white plaster pieces that were then hand painted by his wife and fired in the kiln. He had hired me to photograph the finished products for a sales catalog.
We went back inside to the den where the full product line was on display. Hundreds of small statues covered the entire floor and filled shelves that lined the walls. The visual spectrum of garish colors took your breath away. The size of the pieces ranged from eighteen to thirty-six inches in height. The subject matter included folk tale characters, farm and jungle animals, religious figures, Greek and Roman classics, pet grave markers, and Asian-themed items that it was perfectly acceptable to refer to in those days as Oriental.
The final stop on the tour was the former dinning area that had been converted into the "studio" where Mrs. Rosen painted the ornaments. We watched as she applied lavender eye shadow to a full-length Lady of Fatima. Evidently the Holy Mother prepares for apparitions with the help of Estee Lauder.
I don't want to sound like a snob but having studyied sculpture from Michelangelo to Henry Moore, I wasn't real enthused about photographing this hideous collection of crap. Hartwig could hardly contain his glee. Hartwig excelled at maintaining a dark, demented and thoroughly negative view of mankind and all of its endeavors. He loathed all forms of government, capitalism, religion, corporate America, the military, patriotism, advertizing, holidays, social trends, politics, consumerism and television. His only enjoyment came from his constant rants about the world going into the toilet. He would have made a great addition to any revolutionary group only no one could put up with his endless complaining. When I told him I was going off to photograph lawn ornaments he nearly had an orgasm. He figured there'd be enough new material to fill a solid week of harangues.
Hartwig hadn't counted on Benny being part of the scene. Benny was not related to the Rosens but he lived with them. Benny had recently come from a Los Angeles County organization that paid married couples a few hundred dollars a month to take in physically handicapped youngsters that needed special care. Benny had difficulty staying upright but needed to do so to maintain and improve muscle tone. When we were introduced to Benny he was in the kitchen wearing a customized harness attached to the counter that enabled him to remain standing while he played with toys in the sink. He was shy but obviously very happy with his new family.
The living room furniture had been moved into the garage leaving space for me to set up the equipment I had rented for the photo shoot. Once everything was in place the Rosens took turns carting pieces from the den into the living room one at a time. I took over four hundred shots – Hansel and Gretel, King Neptune, John the Baptist, garden pagodas, and the majority of the animal kingdom ranging from flamingos to Komodo Dragons. It went on for hours.
Mr. and Mrs. Rosen expressed tremendous pride in every item they brought in to be shot. The two of them kept up a running commentary on how charming and wonderful each of the ornaments were much like TV commentators covering the Tournament of Roses Parade. Mr. and Mrs. Rosen and their daughter took turns sitting with and playing with Benny and making sure he was doing okay.
When I was finished taking photos, we packed up the equipment, said our goodbyes and drove away. It was a quiet trip back home. Not even Hartwig could avoid being deeply touched by the genuine pride the couple took in their work and the tenderness they displayed in caring for Benny.