We’d call it curb crawling but Scot Sothern calls it art. Scouring the seedy mean streets of L.A his payment isn’t for a knee-trembling cheap thrill but the self-declared patron saint of whores photographs working girls. Showcasing the harsh realities of working the street this is brutal stuff and as far removed from the glossy Los Angeles American pie image of palm trees and celebrity as you can get.
Fritter
Fritter is a big girl with a pretty face. She smells like Ivory Soap and is witty, fun. I get a motel room where she gets naked and we take a bunch of pictures. We laugh a lot, and I get a boner. I tell her I don’t think she belongs on the street selling herself to lowlife creeps like me.
She asks me ‘who does belong on the streets?’
I tell her, ‘Well, I guess nobody does’.
Jane Doe
This woman is already dead so I photograph her ghost. She is one of the many; here in sunny Hollywood, California, murdered by life without the slimmest of a chance.
I give her fifteen dollars even though she only asks for ten. The extra five includes my last dollar. That’s my donation. I’m down among the lepers and I just gave away my last dollar. I’m a fucking saint. I’m the patron saint of whores.
Jeannie
Jeannie tells me she used to be real pretty. She says she was popular in school, glee club, honor roll. She says she grew up somewhere across America but now she’s here. Jeannie says, “Guess I’m nothin’ new, huh?”
This Person
I look at the photograph of this person and I think, Wow what an amazing fucking picture. Exposure, composition, focus, eye contact. But I can’t take all the credit. I mean look at this person’s face, body, skin. It’s fucking amazing. Oddly, I don’t remember taking this picture. I assume we are in a motel, probably in Los Angeles, but I don’t know that. I think this person was probably a nice person, but I don’t really know that either. Now, twenty three years later, looking at this photograph I wonder what became of this person. I wonder how this person would feel about this photograph.
