Impending Demolition.


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As reported by Curbed Los Angeles and other outlets, a 1979 building, designed by John Lautner, is scheduled for demolition.

The Crippled Children’s Society Rehabilitation Center at 6530 Winnetka Ave in Woodland Hills currently works as a center where developmentally disabled persons are assisted in finding work.

But the building is small (11,214sf), irregularly sited, surrounded by open parks and parking lots, and the land it occupies is large (130,926 SF). It commits a sin of not using every square inch of land for profit and therefore has endangered its existence.

A Senior Housing unit will replace it, most likely one run for profit.

My friend Aydin, who lives nearby, brought me there last night.

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In the waning light of day, the strange and introverted building, sliced and angled, with a pie shaped courtyard and concrete amoeba benches, presented itself as liberal, caring, and vulnerable.

Under a shaded steel canopy: rows of empty lunch benches and two plastic chairs.

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At the entrance to the building, a concrete wall supported a tent pole, marking the structure with some evidence of the powers who created it. It looked like it was added after 1979, sometime in the Reagan Era, when enterprises such as this one began to seem frivolous, and everything began to be ordered and valued in terms of its monetary importance.

What was in the mind of the architect who made this strange building for the disabled now on Death Row? In its composition of contorted shapes and ungraceful lines it seems to go nowhere. But its mission, to educate and train disabled people, succeeds in strange dignity.

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Photographer Development.


Leland Lee Portrait, originally uploaded by Here in Van Nuys.

I was back in Palm Springs yesterday, planted like a palm tree amidst the gorgeous oddness of its windswept spotless streets, sitting at Starbucks amongst groups of people who looked as if they were from an elderly Mid-Western tribe.

On this day I was acting, as I always do when working, as a videographer. A writer friend had invited me along to assist him for an interview with 94-year-old Leland Lee, a photographer, who had shot the concrete space ship Elrod House in 1969.

The Elrod House, designed by John Lautner in 1968, is a home so iconic and so very weird. Like the latter part of the decade in which is what built, The Elrod is unhinged and sybaritic, self-absorbed and spacey, built for joy and sex and parties, featured in a James Bond movie and now on sale for $14 million.

Giant egos surely must have matched horns in the desert, 43 years ago, when architect and client carved and bulldozed the massive circular house onto a high mountain overlooking Palm Springs.

Architect and client are long dead, but living, still very much alive, is short, smart, stylish and self-effacing Leland Lee, who was only born in 1918, and achieved Mid-Century acclaim for assisting Julius Shulman in the photography of Los Angeles at its Post-War acme.

I have always hated the title “assistant”, having worn the dog collar myself, but here was an accomplished individual whose body of work burned up in a fire 10 years ago, but who still carries himself with a noble kindness and generosity.

Brown leather pants, a white linen jacket and printed silk shirt with a purple necklace, this was what he was wearing yesterday, and if clothing can give some indication of character, than Leland must be an eccentric, artistic, self-confident person, and that is how he introduced himself yesterday.

We drove up a long road and passed guards who ushered us into a cave-like driveway, and we entered the dark, soaring, circular living room where Leland’s framed photographs hung on the walls, and where we would film him as he spoke about each image.

What emerged from the interview was his quiet verisimilitude and the dignity of a gentleman who, without exaggeration and with calm exactitude, spoke about his photography and his life; his triumphs and his tragedies, with focus, clarity, deliberation and observation.

I was there, almost to witness and maybe to absorb a moral lesson of life, one that I have to teach myself continually, that non-conformity and truth, the willingness to be honest and to avoid grandiosity, those qualities that I think I have, will not always pay-off monetarily in the end. The 94-year-old cheerfully admitted he had never signed a contract before, and he didn’t seem to live for legal and financial judgment.

I have been battling, for many years now, between self-destruction and self-creation, wondering whether my own self-expression, in print and photo, was endangering my future. For surely Googling “Andy Hurvitz” might reveal the truth of who I was.

And then I met Leland Lee yesterday, and saw a man who had got on and survived, and did it in his own way, not always triumphantly, but truthfully.

Modernism in Studio City.


West Hollywood and Venice have been awash in modern architecture; but in the Valley, the ornate, garish, cheesy and trollop-type condominium, landscaped with every palm and perennial known to mankind, has been the norm.

At 12504 W. Woodbridge St. at Whitsett, just south of Moorpark, a new modern apartment house-all right angles and green materials- is going up. Conceived in the heady days of real estate, 36 months ago, it is nearing completion now, and will offer 12 units for sale.

I spoke to the young developer, on site, who invited me to return in a few weeks to inspect the completed building. He told me the name of the architect, who I regretfully have forgotten.