Los Angeles Beach
The Industrial Revolution caused lasting collateral damage, characterized by the immense stress it placed on individuals' nervous systems. This era of machine power resulted in a state of feverish unrest, affecting society as a whole but impacting a select few with particular intensity: the straggling class. What was once a rare and comical sight – a transient pushing a shopping cart down the street – has become a common and disturbing occurrence.
A man living out of a shopping cart requires minimal personal belongings. For him, home is the cart, as it is a cumbersome burden, much like excessive luggage for a traveler. The transient intended to carry only the essentials that fit within a backpack. Along the way the load increased. Without ticket, money, or identification, they may struggle to establish a destination. The road becomes their only known address.
Perhaps he's a fugitive, or perhaps he was unable to secure a place in a rescue shelter, before it closed for the night. He may still reach his destination, but it's the individual living out of a shopping cart, weighed down by their possessions, that tugs at my heartstrings. He appears resolute, like the mythological figure Sisyphus, perpetually pushing his boulder up an endless hill.
The harsh reality of homelessness is a bleak, concrete void. Any unclaimed spot can become a makeshift home for those without a place to live. The stairs leading up and down to nowhere are a poignant symbol of the lack of direction in the lives of the homeless. On winter subway platforms, it's a common sight to see a person, often referred to as a "bag person," half-asleep on a bench, having seemingly reached the ultimate destination: a place to rest. The irony is striking, as the subway stop that was once a mere transit point has become a final destination, a refuge from the exhaustion of wandering aimlessly.
The phrase "This is L.A." is often sung in a catchy 90s pop song, but if you're standing on San Pedro Street in Los Angeles, you're actually in the midst of the city's infamous Skid Row. On my first visit to Los Angeles, a friend took me to see the San Pedro homeless district, telling me it was a "must-see." What I saw was a scene from hell, eerily reminiscent of 19th-century Bedlam. It's not a place that a rational person would aspire to visit, unless on a dare. I now think it was a test.
Initially, I recoiled in disgust, but as an artist, I soon saw the potential for art in the scene. It is unforgettable and profoundly moving, sensitizing the viewer to the harsh realities of life. In contrast to the recent hyperbole of American art, the gritty reality of Tent City is a refreshing respite. With its picturesque old-world architecture, vibrant street life, and quaint customs, it's a scene that's more akin to a Red Cross disaster area than urban blight. The stark contrast between the beauty of the surroundings and the desperation of the people is a powerful reminder of the need for compassion and relief.
Personal disclosure: my Los Angeles acquaintance is a veteran who claims to have gone AWOL. I listen to his stories without comment, but I sense that he's driven by a deeper fear: the possibility of becoming homeless himself. Unfortunately, veterans are disproportionately represented among the homeless population, and I now realize that I should have been more understanding of his fascination with Skid Row. At the time, I was unaware of the mental illness of PTSD, which might have helped me see through his bravado. For him, living on the edge of homelessness is an existential choice, a twisted "call to duty" that's more akin to a death sentence than a heroic act.