Peering through the wildflowers: Courtesy of Ami Tallman
Underneath the arches of a bridge bordering the Los Angeles River, an artist lived in the dugout spaces of dirt and concrete. Ami Tallman didn’t have many visitors, except for the abundance of rats with whom she shared her space and who had a tendency to bite through her belongings. Her tent was wedged between a wall and pipes that jut toward the freeway. Amidst all the brown and gray, the tent was a wash of color. Initially, it was humble army green, but Tallman has a habit of painting her tents. She is not afraid of color. Her tent resembled her paintings: bold, unexpected colors with thick lines. There was no mistaking that an artist lived there.
“I wasn’t cut out to be a tagger,” she says, remarking at the lack of art on the concrete walls. She had tried taking her paints to the bridge sides but would be upset when they got covered. So naturally, she found a more suitable canvas. Her tent.
Tallman received her Masters of Fine Arts from Art Center College of Design. Her work is often political and sometimes unsettling. Tallman uses her art to showcase her opinions on elections, police brutality, and other criticisms of the government, reflecting her experiences and important moments in the history unfolding around her. The pieces are bright and psychedelic — colors streak and stream in vibrant depictions of the places and people who have left an imprint on her.
Tallman’s work has been featured in exhibits in Los Angeles, New York and Berlin. She even has a permanent installation at the Museum of Modern Art. But just 4 years after her graduation, she entered an period of unstable housing. Tallman has lived in closets, hotel rooms, bridges and tents over the last ten years, and that transience has greatly impacted her ability to create art.
“For a long period of time, it was not possible,” she says, “ I would gather supplies, and I would make something, and then it would just be destroyed.”
Living in a tent, Tallman had to be ready to move her things at a moment’s notice. Much of Los Angeles has restrictions around encampments and law enforcement often sweep out improvised housing and usher out unhoused people. So, unhoused people have to make hard decisions about what they take with them. Often they can only carry what is in their hands. Tallman works with a lot of supplies. Paint tubes, canvases, brushes, and even finished works of art, all had to be left behind. Creating was becoming more and more difficult, and losing access to her craft was heartbreaking.
“I have a tendency to endow spiritual meaning to objects,” she says. “I get attached.” Often, being unhoused meant leaving everything behind at a moment’s notice. “I just reached a point where I was like, I can’t bear to make things when I know they’re just going to disappear into dust.”
For Tallman, there was a turning point when her safety was jeopardized.
After the unexpected death of her partner, Tallman lost her equilibrium and the stability of their once shared space eroded. The stalled RV she resided in was difficult to keep away from others who wanted to claim her space and Tallman had to seek shelter elsewhere.
“I think just the absence of physical barriers between yourself and other people amplifies any threat.” she says.
She lost her space, but she also lost her ability to make art for two years. Unfortunately, this problem is common for unhoused artists. Unstable housing causes instability that bleeds into other aspects of life, stifling the passions of artists like Tallman.
Tallman was “thrown into this chaos of constantly relocating and trying to find a way to stay safe. So that was preoccupying in a way that I couldn’t really do other things,” she says.
And Tallman is just one of many unhoused artists who face this challenge. Cultivating a safe space can be difficult without a stable shelter. Basic needs become the forefront of the mind, though some would argue that art is a basic need.
Some organizations are working to help unhoused artists who need a safe space to make their work. In the heart of Skid Row is Studio 526, which upholds the belief that “art is a human right”. Studio 526 is open to unhoused individuals and gives them a space to make art without worrying about losing supplies or creations. The studio is spacious with an open floor and easels lining the room. Paintings and sketches line the walls and downstairs, there is a room of instruments and a sound studio. Above the mantle is a sign that reads “Safe Space”.
“That’s what we do here,” says Jacques Paige, “We create a safe space for artists to express themselves… We need more community spaces like this all across the land. But definitely inside of Skid Row.”
Skid Row has a reputation that precedes itself. The area comprises 54 blocks that have a long history of being synonymous with poverty and homelessness. But it is also a thriving art scene. Over 900 artists live in Skid Row, according to the Los Angeles Poverty Department, a group of artists who have kept a registry since 2012. But Paige says there is still a heavy stigma for artists on Skid Row.
“Their interpretation of art is either music or fine art, and fine art is attached to wealthy people.” says Paige.
Others in the art scene may think, “How dare they create art,” says Paige. But art has had a vivid history on Skid Row.
According to John Malpede, founder of the Los Angeles Poverty Department, it all comes back to community. Malpede first created the Los Angeles Poverty Department (LAPD) in 1985, and since then has created a thriving arts community. LAPD was the first arts group operating for and by the unhoused in Los Angeles. But since then many other organizations, like Studio 526, have opened up and created more robust community ties. The people of Skid Row are proud of where they come from and have fought to keep the name Skid Row, says Malpede.
“There’s a strong connection between expressing yourself and standing up for yourself,” says Malpede.
Skid Row has a thriving art scene because the community has fought for one another and there is a sense of pride says Malpede.
Paige says that many of the unhoused artists have created a community on Skid Row in which they go to local businesses and commission themselves for street art or have their art displayed in coffee shops and local stores.
“They did that on their own. So they created the industry themselves, here in the community,” he says.
This space is helpful for many unhoused artists, but others, like Tallman, do not have access to studio resources on Skid Row. For these artists, a lot more is left to circumstance.
It wasn’t until Tallman was in this slightly more stable living space that she was able to work again.
Tallman lived under a metro bridge she nicknamed “the mansion” because of how much space it allowed her. The room was closed off and dark, so she used a headlamp. She decorated it with CDs on the wall and painted murals on the concrete. “The mansion” gave her a safe place to make her art.
However, law enforcement found out she was occupying the area and arrested her. Tallman once again parted with her artwork when police confiscated her all belongings, including her dog, Lobo. After five weeks of jail time and two years on probation, she had to find a new place to live.
“I just couldn’t wrap my head around going back to picking a spot and getting kicked out again, she says, ”So when I got out of jail I asked a friend who had a somewhat stable place underneath freeway overpass if she minded if I could share the area.”
Although Tallman didn’t have a studio, she found her own community to help her get back into art. A friend would pick up her work every week and store it for her.
“I was able to accumulate enough supplies to really start working again,” she says, “especially knowing that the artwork was going to get picked up and taken away.”
Tallman is back to making art full-time and is hopeful she can acquire permanent housing. But in the meantime, she is getting by with unemployment benefits and a go fund me page started by her friends. “Most of the money came from people I knew, but would never have asked,” she says. Tallman has cultivated a community of people who care about her and are moved by her art. “She is one of my favorite people in the world,” says Brett Feldman, who befriended Tallman after giving her medical care through the Street Medicine program.
Now, Tallman is in an RV surrounded by her art, beneath a quilt of her own making, and reunited with her dog Lobo. The space is quaint, a little cluttered and far from permanent.
But it feels safe.
