Selections from a series of abandoned sofas and chairs in one neighborhood of Hollywood, 2002-2012.
Dragged out and dumped on the street, discarded couches and chairs are ubiquitous urban outcasts, threadbare but imbued with the imprints of a life left behind, or, in their case, a behind that left.
Outside, in the curbed refrain of a last hoorah, they sit out their final chapter. Couched in meaning, some embody the alienation and dashed hopes of a Hollywood dream, while others abide with an unflagging sense of potential.
Most are older, ragged and unseamly, while a few are perfectly fine, just past their prime yet now irrelevant. Some uphold fraying dignity weathering the elements; others are exposed and pillaged. Often one will draw others and create spontaneous community for a little while. Every so often one is rescued, recovered, and will be cherished once again. A few find their match when nobody would have guessed it possible any longer. Most remain alone. One day they’re gone.