Robert, my latest “Smokin’ Dude”. As I was driving up Franklin Avenue I could see him a good block away. Channeling all the great Hollywood beauties: Davis, Crawford, Lombard, Hayworth, Stanwyck, etc… There he was standing in the perfect pool of god’s light just begging to be seen. I stopped my car and walked over to ask if he’d be willing to pose for me. He gently said yes, and asked where I’d been all his life. Snap! Photogenic kismet.
When I approached to ask if I could make his portrait, Henry greeted me as though we’d been friends for years. Wanted to know how things were? Told me I was looking good. Kept calling me Christine. Said I looked just like my mom. I inquired about his health and asked if I could give him a hand? He said he was fine with money these days; his assistance check had come in. But politely asked if I could push him over to the smoke shop for more cigarettes? Happy to oblige, I got him situated with a cold drink, a fresh pack of smokes and a nice spot in the shade. Henry said I made his day. I told him I loved the name Christine.
PHOTO OMNIVORE: A lifelong Angeleno, I'm an offshoot of this city's sun-baked, smog-laden, tarnished glitter excess; the milieu infusing my sentient response to all bright and lurid things that catch my eye. In short – I am a hungry observer.