Jack Smith


Written by Jack Smith

Jack Smith’s L.A., 1980

[Sunset] Boulevard has become a midway of "total" nudie joints, hole-in-the-wall porno showrooms, elegant massage parlors, hamburgers patios, organic food stores, discotheques, hip haberdasheries and novelty bazaars reeking of incense and glowing with fluorescent posters celebrating sex, peace and ecology, not a bad way to go.

We had No. 13 hamburgers on Alfie’s patio, swept by the warm wind and looking off through the eucalyptus trees across the world’s most indefinable city, which was just then putting on its own fake jewels for the night.

A man and woman took a table near ours, the man in a blue-and-yellow-striped tank shirt, what we used to call an undershirt, and the woman a tall suntanned beauty in oversize sunglasses, long brown hair and extraordinarily good long legs somewhat more than fully revealed by the most economical of hotpants. "I might try one of those tank shirts," I whispered.
"Why?"

 

© 1980 Jack Smith; New York: McGraw-Hill Book Company

Address: Strandpromenaden 2, 0252 Oslo

© Astrup Fearnley Museet