Presence
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My one-time acquaintance, Kalman Aron, died in 2018. Toward the end of his life, he was interviewed on NPR, CBS and other stations about his art and life. As a teen, he escaped 7 concentration camps and eventually emigrated to the US. I met him at an art opening in 2013 and wrote about him on Facebook. I heard his name recently and thought I’d post this again.
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I’ve been to Los Angeles maybe 60 or 70 times over the past 30 years. It’s a city I appreciate for many things, including its many contrasts.
I’m in LA again for a few days, as part of my ‘World Tour of the US.’ I attended an art show opening last night where a young photographer exhibited his new series to a large crowd. He’s being billed as this generation’s Jack Kerouac, although I’m not sure if many of those in attendance have read or even heard of Kerouac.
His photos depict homeless 20-somethings hobo-ing across America. The photos are large, technically proficient, and show young men and women who haven’t bathed or shaved in weeks. One captures a skanky guy giving the finger to the camera. Another is a girl with her legs spread wide, her white panties spotted with menstrual blood. A third shows two young men, passed out drunk, asleep on the ground. And more of the same. There were probably thirty photos on display.
So here’s the thing:
— The photos were priced at $12,000 each and were selling well last night.
— Some of the buyers were young, from 24 to 39, who showed up in $80,000 BMWs but were dressed in ragged jeans and grimy Ts.
I’m not sure of the sociology but I presume they buy expensive photos of homeless homies and show their solidarity with a kind of ‘fuck the man’ mentality in order to assuage their guilt and anger at being wealthy – then drive off in shiny Audis to swill $200-bottles of champagne at chi-chi clubs in West Hollywood.
After that photography show, I went to another opening across town, this one of paintings by Raimonds Staprans, an artist of modest renown whose work I admire. It was a small show and only about 20 people were in attendance…..but one of them was Kalman Aron, originally from Latvia, now 88, who was imprisoned as a child in 7 different concentration camps. He was the only member of his family to survive the Holocaust — and he survived largely because he could draw portraits of German officers. I had a lengthy talk with him and he shared his story (and the numbers on his arm).
That’s the life and culture and contrast of LA. One artist (whose name I can’t remember) draws huge crowds and acclaim with expensive photos devoid of meaning while another artist’s show draws a quiet man who’s content to merely be present.
(Kalman Aron, self-portrait)
