mercado_publication

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Issue No.1

GLANCE L.A.’s Music, Art, + Culture.

TABLE OF CONTENTS Masthead/

04

Letter from the editor/

05

Start/ In Los Angeles/ Julius Schulman: Through The Lens/ Farewell/

06-12 17 16-23 25

MASTHEAD Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado Sebastian Mercado

LETTER FROM EDITOR Hello! Thanks for taking the time to take a look at my magazine. My name is Sebastian Mercado and i am the editor of L.A. based magazine Glance. My goal with this magazine is to bring you the latest information on whats happening within the L.A. music and art scene. Ive always been interested in music and happen to make it myself. I am also a big fan of art so making this magazine is a dream. I choose to design glance with more of a simple and modern look that is easy on the eyes. I love simple design so that is why i chose to make the magazine the way it is and i hope you enjoy it. Thanks again for choosing Glance.

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S tart Exclusive Interview with Anthony Crouch by Sebastian Mercado

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S C E L E B R I T Y

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S D R I N K

Best places to get some food that will leave \RX VDWLVÀHG LQ Los Angeles. by+ Sebastian Mercado :KHQ , ÀUVW VDZ WKLV UHFLSH , NQHZ LW KDG WR EH JRRG MXVW UHDGLQJ WKURXJK WKH OLVW RI LQJUHGLHQWV \RX FDQҋW KHOS EXW EH LQWULJXHG 7KH %RPED\ 6DSSKLUH LQIXVLRQ RI DSSOHV DQG SHDUV DUH HFKRHG LQ WKH FLGHU DQG EUDQG\ WKHQ WKHUH LV DEVLQWKH DQG JLQJHU EHHU IRU FRQWUDVWLQJ EXW FRPSOLPHQWDU\ à DYRUV DQG RQ WRS RI DOO WKDW WKH XQLTXH DGGLWLRQ RI )HH %URWKHU $]WHF &KRFRODWH ELWWHUV 7KLV LV FHUWDLQO\ QRW D ERULQJ FRFNWDLO ,W VKRZV RII VRPH RI WKH WUHQG\ à DYRUV DQG WHFKQLTXHV WKDW DUH KRW DQG LV D JUHDW H[DPSOH RI WKH PRGHUQ PL[RORJ\ DW LWV ÀQHVW $GDP 6FKXPDQ RI 1HZ <RUNҋV )DWW\ &UDE GLG D JUHDW MRE FUHDWLQJ KHUH

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Ingredients: * 1.5 oz. Bombay Sapphire infused with dried pear and apples (click for recipe) * 1/2 oz. Lucid absinthe * 1 oz. local apple cider * 1/2 oz. pear brandy (Adam recommends: Massenez Williams Poire Brandy) * 1/2 oz. fresh lemon juice * 2 dashes Fee Brothers Aztec Chocolate bitters * Ginger beer * cinnamon stick for garnish * lemon peel for garnish Preparation: 1. Pour the ingredients into a cocktail shaker with ice cubes. 2. Shake well. 3. Strain into a highball glass mMMFE XJUI JDF 4. Garnish with a lemon peel and cinnamon stick.

S T R A V E L

DOWNTOWN Get around Los Angeles faster with these alternate routes. by+ Sebastian Mercado

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Emos evendam, optaerferci dolupid ut lam, con prorpor acest quo videm nihicia YRORUHVHG TXDP VXQWR RIÀFL aut licias et ullorunt post ma nobit vollace percidu cidebis imi, veliciis esci il inctatin evelique atis aut es et uta sequis nonserfero tem arios eturerias nusda num fugiam rae nonsequam, solor apeless iminienis adis molorrum rehenit, ut abo. Itaquis rae nonempo restiatis maximendae quae lam, qui odio veles cuptatur solorepero conse voloriantore nescimo tem venditatur magnihicia velique et exceptatas sediandem v photo+ Ryan Somerville

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+WE ARE LOS ANGELES+ +JOIN US+

GLANCE www.GlanceMagazine.com

IN LOS ANGELES ´,Q /RV $QJHOHV E\ WKH WLPH \RXŇ‹UH WKLUW\ Ă€YH you’re older than most of the buildings.â€? - Delia Ephron

The Heart of City It’s a town after all. Seen ay night by air, the city seems a large bracelet of lights and pools. It is only 500 square miles but it feels larger. Divided LQWR GLVWULFWV DQG QHLJKERUKRRGV DW Ă€UVW WKH city seems disjointed, a bewildering terrain of mountains and valleys that ultimately touch the sea. Second in population to only New York City, Los Angeles could not be more different. One can still hide in the shadows and hills of a vast LA sunset. And more and more people choose to live here, ignoring the proclamation of Woody Allen in Annie Hall “that I don’t want to move to a city where the only cultural advantage is being able to make a right turn on a red light.â€?

15

Julius Schulman

Through the Lens By Sebastian Mercado

E

ven if you’re confused by the fork in the driveway, which slopes up to the Edenic apex of Laurel Canyon, or don’t recognize architect Raphael Soriano’s mid-century design landmark, you can’t miss Julius Shulman’s place. It’s the one with the eight-foot-high banner bearing his name—an advertisement for his 2005 Getty Museum exhibition “Modernity and the Metropolisâ€?—hanging before the door to the studio adjoining the house. As displays of ego go, it’s hard to beat. Yet the voice calling out from behind it is friendly, even eager—“Come on in!â€? And drawing back WKH EDQQHU RQH Ă€QGV QRW D PRQXPHQW EXW D PDQ EHKLQG DQ DSSHDOLQJO\ messy desk, wearing blue suspenders and specs with lenses as big as Ring Dings, and offering a smile of roguish beatitude.

You’d smile, too. At 96, Shulman is the best known architectural photographer in the world, and one of the genre’s PRVW LQĂ XHQWLDO Ă€JXUHV %HWZHHQ ZKHQ D IDWHIXO PHHWing with architect Richard Neutra began his career, and his semi-retirement half a century later, he used his instinctive compositional elegance and hair-trigger command of light to document more than 6,500 projects, creating images WKDW GHĂ€QHG PDQ\ RI WKH PDVWHUZRUNV RI WK FHQWXU\ DUchitecture. Most notably, Shulman’s focus on the residential modernism of Los Angeles, which included photographing RI WKH &DVH 6WXG\ +RXVHV FRPPLVVLRQHG E\ $UWV $UFKLWHFWXUH PDJD]LQH EHWZHHQ DQG UHVXOWHG LQ D series of lyrical tableaux that invested the highwater moment of postwar American optimism with an arresting, oddly innocent glamour. Add to this the uncountable volumes and journals featuring his pictures, and unending requests for reprints, and you have an artist whose talent, timing, ubiquity, and sheer staying power have buried the competition—in some cases, literally. 6KXOPDQŇ‹V GHFLVLRQ WR FDOO LW TXLWV LQ ZDV PRWLYDWHG less by age than a distaste for postmodern architecture. But, he insists, “it wasn’t quite retiring,â€? citing the ensuing decade and a half of lectures, occasional assignments, and work on books. Then, in 2000, Shulman was introduced to a German photographer named Juergen Nogai, who was in L.A. from Bremen on assignment. The men hit it off immediately, and began partnering on work motivated by the maestro’s brandname status. “A lot of people, they think, It’d be great to have our house photographed by Julius Shulman,â€? says Nogai.

´:H GLG D ORW RI MREV OLNH WKDW DW Ă€UVW 7KHQ VXGGHQO\ SHRSOH Ă€JXUHG RXW -XOLXV LV ZRUNLQJ DJDLQ Âľ “I realized that I was embarking on another chapter of my life,â€? Shulman says, the pleasure evident in his time-softened voice. “We’ve done many assignmentsâ€?—Nogai puts WKH QXPEHU DW DURXQG ³´DQG WKH\ DOO FDPH RXW EHDXWLfully. People are always very cooperative,â€? he adds. “They spend days knowing I’m coming. Everything is clean and IUHVK , GRQŇ‹W KDYH WR UDLVH D Ă€QJHU Âľ $V UHJDUGV WKH GLYLVLRQ RI ODERU WKH \HDU ROG 1RJDL VD\V WDFWIXOO\ ´7KH PRUH DFWLYH LV PH EHFDXVH RI WKH DJH -XOLXV LV Ă€QGLQJ WKH SHUVSHFWLYHV DQG ,Ň‹P VHWWLQJ XS WKH OLJKWV DQG Ă€QH WXQLQJ WKH LPDJH in the camera.â€? While Shulman acknowledges their -Juergen Nogai equal partnership, and declares Nogai’s lighting abilities to be unequaled, his DVVHVVPHQW LV PRUH VXFFLQFW ´, PDNH WKH FRPSRVLWLRQV There’s only one Shulman.â€? In fact, there seem to be many. There’s Shulman the phoWRJUDSKHU ZKR KDQGOHV WKUHH WR Ă€YH DVVLJQPHQWV D PRQWK (and never turns one down—“Don’t have to. Everyone’s willing to waitâ€?), and the Shulman between hard covers, whose latest book, the three-volume, 950-page Modernism Rediscovered, will shortly be published by Taschen. But the Shulman of whom Shulman seems most proud is the educator. In 2005, he established an eponymous institute in conjunction with the Woodbury University in nearby Burbank, to provide, according to the school, “programs that promote the appreciation and understanding of architecture and design.â€? Apart from a fellowship program and research center, the Julius Shulman Institute’s principal asset is its founder, who

“There’s only one Shulman.�

has given dozens of talks at high schools across Southern California. “The subject is the power of photography,â€? Shulman explains. “I have thousands of slides, and Juergen and I have assembled them into almost 20 different lectures. And not just about architecture—I have pictures of cats and dogs, IDVKLRQ SLFWXUHV Ă RZHU SKRWRJUDSKV , XVH WKHP WR GR D ORW of preaching to the students, to give them something to do with their lives, and keep them from dropping out of school.â€? It all adds up to a very full schedule, which Shulman handles largely by himself—“My daughter comes once a week from Santa Barbara and takes care of my business affairs, and does my shoppingâ€?—and with remarkable ease for a near-centenarian. Picking up the oversized calendar on which he records his appointments, Shulman walks me WKURXJK D W\SLFDO VHYHQ GD\V ´7KRP 0D\QHÂłZH KDG OXQFK with him. Long Beach, AIA meeting. People were here for a meeting about my photography at the Getty [which houses his archive]. High school students, a lecture. Silver Lake, the Neutra house, they’re opening part of the lake frontage, I’m going to see that. USC, a lecture. Then an assignment, the *ULIĂ€WK 2EVHUYDWRU\ÂłZHŇ‹YH DOUHDG\ VWDUWHG WKDW RQH Âľ Yet rather than seeming overtaxed, Shulman fairly exudes well-being. Like many elderly people with nothing left to prove, and who remain in demand both for their talents DQG DV Ă€JXUHV RI YHQHUDWLRQ WKLQN RI *HRUJH %XUQV 6KXOPDQ WDNHV WKLQJV YHU\ HDV\ +H NQRZV ZKDW KLV HPSOR\HUV and admirers want, is happy to provide it, and accepts the

UHVXOWLQJ UHDIĂ€UPDWLRQ RI KLV OHJHQG ZLWK D PL[ RI SOD\IXOO\ rampant immodesty and heartfelt gratitude. As the man himself puts it, “The world’s my onion.â€? Given the fun Shulman’s having being Shulman, one might expect the work to suffer. But his passion for picturemaking remains undiminished. “I was surprised at how engaged Julius was,â€? admits the Chicago auction-house mogul Richard Wright, who hired Shulman to photograph Pierre .RHQLJŇ‹V &DVH 6WXG\ +RXVH SULRU WR VHOOLQJ LW ODVW \HDU ´+H GLG VKRWV LQ WZR GD\V ZKLFK LV D ORW $QG KH UHDOO\ nailed them.â€? Of this famous precision, says the writer Howard Rodman, whose John Lautner–designed home ShulPDQ SKRWRJUDSKHG LQ ´7KHUHŇ‹V D VWRU\ DERXW 6WHYH McQueen, where a producer was trying to get him to sign on to a movie. The producer said, ‘Look how much you change from the beginning to the end.’ And McQueen said, ‘I don’t want to be the guy who learns. I want to be the guy who knows.’ And Shulman struck me as the guy who knows.â€? This becomes evident as, picking up the transparencies from his two most recent assignments, he delivers an impromptu master class. “We relate to the position of the sun every minute of the day,â€? Shulman begins, holding an exWHULRU RI D &UDIWVPDQ VW\OH KRXVH LQ 2DNODQG E\ %HUnard Maybeck, to the lamp atop his desk. “So when the sun moves around, we’re ready for our picture. I have to be as afternoon, when the sun is just hitting the west side of the building. If I’m not ready for that moment, I lose the day.â€? He does not, however, need to observe the light prior to photo

JUDSKLQJ ´, ZDV D %R\ 6FRXWÂł, NQRZ ZKHUH WKH VXQ LV every month of the year. And I never use a meter.â€? Shulman is equally proud of his own lighting abilities. “I’ll show you something fascinating,â€? he says, holding up two exteriors of a new modernist home, designed for a family QDPHG $ELGL E\ DUFKLWHFW -DPHV 7\OHU ,Q WKH Ă€UVW WKH LQVLGH of the house is dark, resulting in a handsome, somewhat lifeless image. In the second, it’s been lit in a way that seems a natural balance of indoor and outdoor illumination, yet expresses the structure’s relationship to its site and showcases WKH DUFKLWHFWXUHŇ‹V WUDQVSDUHQF\ ´7KH KRXVH LV WUDQVĂ€JXUHG Âľ Shulman explains. “I have four Ts. Transcend is, I go beyond what the arFKLWHFW KLPVHOI KDV VHHQ 7UDQVĂ€JXUHÂłJODPRUL]H GUDPDWL]H with lighting, time of day. Translate—there are times, when you’re working with a man like Neutra, who wanted everything the way he wanted it—‘Put the camera here.’ And after he left, I’d put it back where I wanted it, and he wouldn’t know the difference—I translated. And fourth, I transform the composition with furniture movement.â€? To illustrate the latter, Shulman shows me an interior of the Abidi house that looks out from the living room, through a long glass wall, to the grounds. “Almost every one of my photographs has a diagonal leading you into the picture,â€?

he says. Taking a notecard and pen, he draws a line from the lower left corner to the upper right, then a second perSHQGLFXODU OLQH IURP WKH ORZHU ULJKW FRUQHU WR WKH Ă€UVW OLQH Circling the intersection, he explains, “That’s the point of what we call ‘dynamic symmetry.’â€? When he holds up the photo again, I see that the line formed by the bottom of the glass wall—dividing inside from outside—roughly mirrors the diagonal he’s drawn. Shulman then indicates the second, perpendicular line created by the furniture arrangement. “My assistants moved [the coffee table] there, to complete the line. When the owner saw the Polaroid, she said to her husband, ‘Why don’t we do that all the time?’â€? Shulman’s remark references one of his signature gamELWV ZKDW KH FDOOV ´GUHVVLQJ WKH VHW Âľ QRW RQO\ E\ PRYLQJ furniture but by adding everyday objects and accessories. “I think he was trying to portray the lifestyle people might have had if they’d lived in those houses,â€? suggests the Los Angeles–based architectural photographer Tim Street-Porter. “He was doing—with a totally positive use of the words—advertising or propagandist photographs for the cause.â€? This impulse culminated in Shulman’s introduction of people into his pictures—commonplace today, but virtually unique 50 years ago. “Those photographs—with young, attractive people having breakfast in glass rooms beside carports with two-

tone cars—were remarkable in the history of architectural photography,� Street-Porter says. “He took that to a wonderfully high level.� Surprisingly, Shulman underplays this aspect of his oeuvre. The idea, he explains, is simply to “induce a feeling of occupancy. For example, in the Abidi house, I put some wineglasses and bottles on the counter, which would indicate that people are coming for dinner. Then there are times I’ll select two or three people—the owner of a house, or the children—and put them to work. Sometimes it’s called for.� “Are you pleased with these photographs?� I ask as he sets them aside. “I’m pleased with all my work,� he says cheerfully. “I tell people in my lectures, ‘If I were modest, I wouldn’t talk about how great I am.’� Yet when I ask how he developed his eye, Shulman’s expression turns philosophical. “Sometimes Juergen walks ahead of me, and he’ll look for a composition. And invariably, he doesn’t see what I see. Architects don’t see what I see. It’s God-given,� he says, using the Yiddish word for an act of kindness—“a mitzvah.� I suggest a tour of the house, and Shulman moves carefully to a rolling walker he calls “the Mercedes� and heads out of the studio and up the front steps. As a plaque beside WKH HQWUDQFH LQGLFDWHV WKH VTXDUH IRRW WKUHH EHG-

URRP VWUXFWXUH ZKLFK 6KXOPDQ FRPPLVVLRQHG LQ DQG moved into two years later, was landmarked by L.A.’s Cultural Heritage Commission as the only steel-frame Soriano house that remains as built. Today, such Case Study–era residences are as fetishized (and expensive) as FabergĂŠ eggs. But when Shulman opens the door onto a wide, corklined hallway leading to rooms that, after six decades, remain refreshing in their clarity of function and communication, use of simple, natural materials, and openness to the out-of-doors, I’m reminded that the movement’s motivation ZDV HJDOLWDULDQ QRW HOLWLVW WR SURGXFH ZHOO GHVLJQHG DIIRUGable homes for young, middle-class families. “Most people whose houses I photographed didn’t use their sliding doors,â€? Shulman says, crossing the living room WRZDUG KLV RZQ JODVV VOLGHUV ´%HFDXVH Ă LHV DQG OL]DUGV would come in; there were strong winds. So I told Soriano I wanted a transition—a screened-in enclosure in front of the living room, kitchen, and bedroom to make an indoor/outdoor room.â€? Shulman opens the door leading to an exterior dining area. A bird trills loudly. “That’s a wren,â€? he says, and steps out. “My wife and I had most of our meals out here,â€? he recalls. “Beautiful.â€? We continue past the house to Shulman’s beloved garden—he calls it “the jungleâ€?—a riot of vegetation that over

Julius Schulman

Through the Lens

whelms much of the site, and frames an almost completely green canyon view. “I planted hundreds of trees and shrubs—back there you can see my redwoods,â€? he says, gesturing at the slope rising at the property’s rear. “Seedlings, DV ELJ DV P\ WKXPE 7KH\Ň‹UH feet tall now.â€? He pauses to consider an ominously large paw print in the path. “It’s too big for a dog. A bobcat wouldn’t be that big, either. It’s a mystery,â€? Shulman decides, SXVKLQJ WKH 0HUFHGHV SDVW D Ă€FXV as big as a baobab. 7KH P\VWHU\ , Ă€QG P\VHOI SRQdering, as we walk beside the terraced hillside, is the one he cited KLPVHOI WKH VRXUFH RI KLV WDOHQW ,Q 6KXOPDQ ZDV DQ DPD WHXU photographer—gifted, but without professional ambition—when he was invited by an architect friend to visit Richard Neutra’s Kun House. Shulman, who’d never seen a modern residence, took a handful of snapshots with the Kodak vestpocket camera his sister had given him, and sent copies to his friend as a thank-you. When Neutra saw the images, he requested a meeting, bought the photos, and asked the 26-year-old if he’d like more work. Shulman accepted and—virtually on a whim—his career took off. When I ask Shulman what Neutra saw in his images, he answers with a seemingly unrelated story. ´, ZDV ERUQ LQ %URRNO\Q LQ Âľ says this child of Russian-Jewish immigrants. “When I was three, my father went to the town of Central Village in Connecticut, and was shown this farmhouse—primitive, but [on] a big piece of land. After we moved in, he planted corn and potatoes, my mother milked the cows, and we had a farm life. “And for seven years, I was imbued with the pleasure of living FORVH WR QDWXUH ,Q ZKHQ ZH came here to Los Angeles, I joined the Boy Scouts, and enjoyed the outdoor-living aspect, hiking and camping. My father opened a clothing store in Boyle Heights, and my four brothers and sisters and my mother worked in the store. They ZHUH EXVLQHVVSHRSOH Âľ +H Ă DVKHV

a slightly cocky smile. “I was with the Boy Scouts.â€? We arrive at a sitting area, with a VPDOO SRRO RI ZDWHU D Ă€UHSODFH DQG D large sculpture (purchased from one of his daughter’s high school friends) made from Volkswagen body parts. Shulman lowers himself onto a bench and absorbs the abundant natural pleasures. “When I bought this land, my brother said, ‘Why don’t you subdivide? You’ll make money.’â€? He looks amused. “Two acres at the top of Laurel Canyon, and the studio could be converted into a guest house—it could be sold for millions.â€? He resumes his story. “At the end of )HEUXDU\ ,Ň‹G EHHQ DW 8&/$ DQG

then Berkeley, for seven years. Never graduated, never majored. Just audited classes. I was driving home from Berkeleyâ€?—Shulman hesitates dramatically— “and I knew I could do anything. I was even thinking of getting a job in the parks department raking leaves, just so I could be outside. And within two weeks, I met 1HXWUD E\ FKDQFH 0DUFK ÂłWKDW day, I became a photographer. Why not?â€? Hearing this remarkable tale, I understand that Shulman has answered my question about his talent with an explanation of his nature. What Neutra perceived in the young amateur was an outdoorsman’s independent spirit and an enthusiasm for life’s possi-bilities, qualities that,

“Don’t take life too seriously—don’t plan nothing nohow,â€? as fate would have it, merged precisely with the boundless optimism of the American Century—an optimism, Shulman instinctively recognized, that was embodied in the modern houses that became, as Street-Porter says, “a muse to him.â€? “[Shulman] always says proudly that Soriano hated his furniture,â€? says Wim de Wit, the Getty Research Institute curator who oversees Shulman’s collection. “He says, ‘I don’t care; when I sit in a chair I want to be comfortable.’ He does not think of himself as an artist. ‘I was doing a business,’ he says. But when you look at that overgrown garden, you know—there is some other streak in him.â€? That streak—the free soul within the unpretentious, practical product of the immigrant experience—produced what Nogai calls “a seldom SHUVRQDOLW\Âľ D -HZLVK IDUP ER\ ZKR JUHZ XS WR FUHDWH LQWHUnationally recognized American cultural artifacts—icons that FRQWLQXH WR LQĂ X HQFH RXU IDQWDVLHV DQG VHOI SHUFHSWLRQV I ask Shulman if he’s surprised at how well his life has turned out. “I tell students, ‘Don’t take life too seriously— don’t plan nothing nohow,’â€? he replies. “But I have always observed and respected my destiny. That’s the only way I can describe it. It was meant to be.â€?

“And it was a destiny that suited you?â€? At this, everything rises at once—his eyebrows, his outVWUHWFKHG DUPV DQG KLV SHDFHIXO VDWLVĂ€HG VPLOH ´:HOO Âľ says Shulman, “here I am.â€?

GOODBYE. -SEBASTIAN MERCADO

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