ASTRID

Today I talked to Astrid.

It kind of sounds funny to me even to write about it because I never thought I would do it one day, but I have decided to do headshots. Living in Los Angeles has finally got me. Sometimes, I see the entertainment industry like an old lady who doesn't let herself be impressed by new comers. There are rules to follow, and one of them is to carry your headshots around. Even if you are not an actor. The photo shoot is just part of the L.A. life. Like gondola riding in Venice, bullfighting in Seville, or wine tasting in Bordeaux. You just need to do it once, that's all.

I met Astrid through common friends. She is a dynamic brunette who speaks fast both in English and French. She is a photographer, graphic designer and musician. When she enters my apartment, carrying two large photo bags, reflectors, and background material, she is all business. My make-up is not finished yet but she is fine with that. In front of the bathroom mirror, I put some face powder, a light sparkly color on my eyelids, and arrange my hair. Astrid sits on the toilet seat and watches me in silence. She is getting ready for the session too. "Each shoot is unique," she says. "I adapt to the person and her personal vibe. I never know where it's gonna go, but when we get there it's like a dance." The make-up is done. "You look like a doll," she says, and she smiles warmly. Then I show her the clothes I have prepared and spread on my bed. We decide to start the shoot with the cool colors and end with the warm ones.

Astrid loves still images. With her company, Purple Red, she has been creating movie posters since she moved to Los Angeles from Paris, eight years ago. Recently, she started doing more and more photo shoots because it allows her to interact with people. She experiences unique and intimate moments with them. "I'm tired of working alone in front of my computer. I crave for more sharing right now," she says. Since Astrid prefers to work with natural light, we get out on the balcony. "We'll start with something simple, so you can make yourself comfortable," she says. She puts a newspaper on a tiny table and a cup of coffee next to it. It is 10am and the sunlight is extremely bright. So she grabs four clips and a piece of white cloth, and creates a roller blind with all that. The balcony becomes cozy. I sit down and start asking her questions (in a lame attempt to cover the stress), when I realize that the shoot has already started. Astrid asks me to remain silent because: "if I don't, the pictures will come out bad," she says. 

After maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, we decide to change the outfit and find a new location. I change my tank top to a blue vintage shirt, and we get out of the apartment. In an alley behind the garage, we find a dirty gray wall that stands next to a few old cars parked behind a gate. Astrid continues shooting. She stands deeply rooted on her feet and moves in rhythm to an inaudible music. I giggle awkwardly thinking to myself that I would rather be the one taking the pictures and that modeling is definitely a hard job...

Four outfits and three hours later, I am standing at the front door of an orange Spanish-style house. Astrid has removed the doormat and the ad hanging at the door. My feet hurt from  standing in high heels, and I am thirsty and hot. Astrid watches me patiently. She smiles. "Do what you feel to do," she says. So I throw my shoes away and start to play hide and seek in the surroundings. "Here we go," she whispers. And I see her smile peak from behind the camera. The dance has finally begun. "Now, we're done," she says."I've got some really good ones." Thanks to Astrid, I did it. I had a memorable photo shoot experience in the streets of L.A.. But it is time to reverse the roles and it feels good to be behind the camera again. 

 

SWARN

Today I talked to Swarn.

It is already the end of the afternoon but the temperature seems as high as at midday. I'm strolling around Los Feliz with a friend. On north Vermont Ave, we pass by an immaculate white temple. It is a square building with onion shaped cupolas. We can't figure out what kind of temple it is, so we decide to get closer. 

At the entrance door, a skinny Indian man is sitting on a metal chair. He tells us this is a Sikh temple. "From the Sikh religion," he says. He agrees to let us in and comes with us to a locker room. There is a high shelf with tiny compartments in it. "You leave your shoes here," says Swarn. "And you put this on your head," he adds. He points at a big basket full of yellow, orange and royal blue headscarves. Then, Swarn shows the piece of fabric tied on his own head to make sure that we understand what he just said. Swarn doesn't seem to have an age: his eyes are lively but some of his teeth are missing. He has been living in the U.S. for thirty years, and has worked at the temple for only four months. Before that, he was working at a motel. When his boss stopped paying him, he had to leave. He says it was tough for a while. He lost his apartment and couldn't find another one without a job. So he came to the temple. Now his job is to take care of the building. He also have a place to sleep, on the second floor. Every morning he opens the temple at 8am and closes at 9 in the evening.

My friend and I walk through the hall and enter an empty silent room. The floor is covered with  rugs. In the center, there is a large square that looks like an altar full of holy objects. Behind it on the wall, a wide picture of the Golden Temple of Amritsar, in the North of India. This place is the spiritual center of the Sikh religion. I remember spending one night there when I was backpacking through India a few years ago. Everyone was welcome to take a shower and sleep for free in the temple compound. The generosity of this community has stayed with me until that day.
 

We stop at the altar and look around. Two bearded men wearing turbans, and sitting in the far end of the room, are watching us. We greet them in silence and sit down. The men start to play music and sing. It is a simple and beautiful music. Then, Swarn puts a napkin in my hand. "Both hands," he says. So I take the napkin in both of my hands. He puts two large spoons of a brownish thick mixture on it. It is sweet and greasy. My friend and I look at each other, intimidated by the setting, the music, and Swarn's kindness. "Come on Sunday, at 9am. There's two hundred, three hundred people here. Black, White, everyone comes." We ask Swarn what is that food. "Flour, sugar, and butter. Special butter," he says. "It's the message from God."

A man wearing a large orange turban enters the room. He bows, throws a bundle of dollars on the altar, walks around it, salutes the priests and exits. Another man approaches the altar, bows with his hands on his forehead, moves them to his heart, and finally kneels down on the floor. He remains with this head on the floor for a while. We decide to get out of the temple, so I can take a picture of Swarn. But when we get there, the sun is disappearing behind the roofs. I decide to come back the following day.

 

The next day, nothing has changed. Swarn is sitting at the same spot at the entrance of the temple. The priests, Ajit Singh and Sohan Singh, are standing outside with him. They recognize me right away. One of them goes inside and brings back a warm cup of Indian Chai. The flavor of the spices and sweet milk is delicious. Swarn poses seriously even though he looks intimidated by the priests' presence. Then, when it is time for the picture, the priests strike a solemn pose, raise their heads, looking in the far distance. They become monumental figures of authority. I trigger my camera. 

 

BEN

 

Today I talked to Ben.

I am wandering around Thai Town on Hollywood Blvd, between Western and Normandie Ave. In some places the area looks abandoned. The garbage cans are overloaded with trash and the pavement is dirty. Most businesses are supermarkets, Thai video stores, or restaurants. In a shop window, a note catches my attention: "We fix watches", it says. It reminds me that a few years ago, I bought a musical clock on a flea market in Tokyo. One day at 11.55, it simply stopped. And it has been stuck at this time for about three years. This is the chance to give my clock a second life. I push the door and enter the Elsie's Antique shop.

Behind a shelf covered with miniatures of Asian gods and rustic statuettes, I see a short round man discussing the price of a watch with the salesman. "Is it a Rolex? Is it gold?" - "Yes, it is gold. Plated," says the salesman. His name is Ben. He is a sharp man, with pepper and salt hair, whose cheeks carry the memories of all the times he smiled. "Let me know if you need any help," he says to me in a kind voice. I look around. At first glance, the place looks like a mountain of dust, rust and knick-knack. But after a while, I find some unique and interesting objects. "Thanks. How much is that?" I ask, and show him a small bronze Buddha that plays on a drum. Ben makes a concentrated face for a moment that seems extremely long. I imagine him scanning my profile: flip-flops, old jeans, and faded tank top. "Twenty dollars for two pieces. The dancing elephant goes with the Buddha," he says. The short round man promises he will come back for the Rolex, and exits. I continue to wander around in the shop and stumble across African masks, craved Asian sabers, and jade pendants. Ben also carries some contemporary pieces. Like the Ronald Reagan plate with his face in the center and all the American symbols you can possibly imagine around it.

Ben bought this shop three years ago. Before that, it was a clock museum. Apparently, a lot of films were shot here and another one is planned for next week. Ben finds most of his pieces in auctions and travels abroad only for large ones. For him, there seems to be two types of objects - the old ones and the very old ones. He rarely gives you the age of the object, which allows you to fill in with whatever makes you happy. Unless you are a trained collector or an antique expert, this shouldn't be problematic in any way. Ben is originally from Beirut, Lebanon. He shows me a golden teapot that sits on the floor. "This is a very old Lebanese object," he says. "It was used to pour coffee or tea." The pot is about three feet high and is extremely refined. It was designed in a way that would allow the liquid to be poured without requiring any strength. While Ben is demonstrating how to use it, he explains that certain people's job was only to serve coffee and tea, but it was a long time ago.

It is 4.59pm. Ben startles when he sees the time. "I'm closing at 5," he says. We walk quickly out of the shop to take pictures of him. "I was better when I was young," he says when the first picture is developed, and he smiles. We agree that I will bring him my Japanese clock soon. Ben runs into the shop, comes back, then closes the door behind him. I make a few steps on the sidewalk and turn to thank him one more time. But he is already gone. 

CHIREL

 

Today I talked to Chirel. 

I am looking for comfortable summer shoes in order to walk in the streets of Los Angeles and become a better blogger. The Lux shop stands on Larchmont Blvd and carries affordable things. Let's say that if Ali Baba were a girl, this would have been her summer cave. Everywhere you look, there is something you want to touch. Fine jewelry, shoes for night and day, sunglasses, hats, and scarves. Chirel, a petite smiling trendy girl, is the boss here. A few years ago, she moved to Los Angeles from Paris, France. At this time, all her friends were getting married. She suddenly saw herself at the age of forty, married with three children, eating quiche with girlfriends on Sundays. "I wanted to live something exciting," she says. So she flew to Los Angeles to work with her brother. 

By the way, this portion of Larchmont Blvd is pretty much like a family business. Chirel's brother manages one of the shops next door. His wife, Jacquie Aiche, designs fine jewelry, that Chirel sells. Amongst other things, she creates handcrafted amulets inspired by her Native American and Jewish origins. The necklaces contain a blessing and are said to bring good fortune and protection to whomever wears them. Then, I meet Cynthia who shows us her hand. Her wedding ring says "Fuck". "Fuck, I'm married!" she says, and laughs. She works at the men's store next door. Her husband is Chirel's brother's best friend. "We're one little family over here," says Cynthia. She points to the bench in front of Lux: "Sometimes we seat here and talk about people on the street. We call it Larchmont Talk," she says. A girl with a light summer dress and black sandals walks by. "She would be a perfect customer for me," says Chirel. At this moment, the girl blatantly pulls on her panties. "Well, she puts her panties back in place but that'll do," adds Chirel with a laugh.

Every five minute, a new girl pops into the shop and  looks delighted to see Chirel. A woman with green-tinted sunglasses enters: "I've sold the house. I'm moving to New York," she says. Chirel congratulates her and they hug. Her name is Viktoria. She has created Ebba, a line of scented candles and fine perfumes. Women who wear these perfumes seem to love them so much that they refuse to reveal the name of the brand to other women. That's intriguing... I definitely have to check it out. 

Tonight Chirel is going to a restaurant that shows movies on its rooftop for free. She says that her friends call her Huggy Bear, or Huggy les Bons Tuyaux in French (Antonio Fargas' character in Starsky and Hutch, TV series). They say she knows all about the best tips, the free parties, and the great restaurants in town. But most of all, you can tell this girl loves people. She offers advice about fashion or anything else concerning... well, life. 


Suddenly, after maybe an hour or two of girl talk, Chirel mentions that she is creating things too. She shows me her black leather bags and purses. Each one has a different object engraved in the leather: a plastic spider, a pair of sunglasses, or a paintbrush. The idea is unique and the result definitely cool. Her brand is called Sibling as a tribute to her brother and sisters (The French name is: Trois Soeurs et un Frère, but Chirel says it is way too long) and it can be found at American Rag. 

It is finally time for me to leave this bubbly girly experience. I have enjoyed meeting these fun and creative women, and I hope to hear from Huggy Bear's good tips soon.