Muted Stares
Photographs from the public staircases of Silver Lake and Echo Park in Los Angeles
So much of my work has been dedicated to finding a way to define environments and the structures and objects that occupy them. This has often meant suppressing my personal point of view in favor of an apparently objective one, the traditional role of the documentarian. This is a false premise at best.
Every decision that goes into making even the most clinical photographic rendering of a building, for instance, requires that subjective decisions be made. Angle of view, camera height, what’s included in the frame, time of day and time of year, which determine the angle of the sun, weather conditions, and so forth all go into determining what a photograph will look like. Less tangible, though, are the frame of mind of the photographer at the time of exposure, and their emotional responses to what they’re confronted with. With the series Muted Stares I have attempted to acknowledge what it felt like to be in these very specific places. By working in this manner I have come much closer to experiencing what drew me to the medium in the first place, leaving myself vulnerable to the anticipation of not knowing what lies beyond the next step of the staircase or turn of the path: the uncertainty of the outcome each time the shutter is released.
In the 1920s a network of concrete staircases was built into the myriad hillsides of the Los Angeles district of Silver Lake and Echo Park during their development as residential neighborhoods. All but a couple of the staircases are still accessible to the public around the clock as they were originally intended. The staircase that connects Vendome Street to Descanso Drive at the top gained fame when it was featured in the Laurel and Hardy film, The Music Box, which would also become the first recipient of an Academy Award for Best Live Action Short (Comedy) in 1932. A few of the flights have been painted with unauthorized murals and graffiti, in some cases creating tourist destinations. But for the most part, the staircases remain as they had been built, in the unremarkable gray tones of concrete. For the most part, the staircases have weathered their century of existence quite well with the help of conscientious neighbors. Coming across each of them for the first time has usually been a surprise, even when I’ve been deliberately looking for them. Most of the staircases, no more than a few feet wide, simply meet the street or sidewalk without announcement or fanfare.
I’ve lived amidst these staircases for over 40 years, and yet have only had a marginal awareness of the extent of their existence for most of that time. When the pandemic descended upon all of us in 2020, like many, my daily routines shifted dramatically. When it was clear I’d go stir-crazy without getting more exercise I resolved to walk more. A lot more. There are some 70 or so staircases within a two mile radius of my house ranging from a few steps to hundreds in some cases. The one with which I’m the most familiar is seven houses from my front door and is 111 steps punctuated by four landings.
Doug; We liked the photos. Ken and Lani from Herman