The Feline Feeling for The Loved One by Julie Green.
Seance Room by Sophie Lin Berard. 
Motor Lodge by Hana Haley.
Los Feliz by Lou Noble.
Big Bud Press by Sara Cath.
Self Portraits w/ Cameras.
Big Sad Eyes for The Loved One by Hana Haley.
Final Holly Street Lookbook for The Loved One by Hannah Metz.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



The photographs of Emily Alben are an intimate document of Southern California mythos playing out in the concrete details of her day to day life. A life pieced together bit by bit from vintage dresses and street tacos, road trips and winged eyeliner, late night hotel trysts and boozy diner breakfasts. Moments are captured in sharp analog compositions that betray both her knowledge of the medium and her affection for our strange metropolis and its environs. The sliver of archive presented here is a goodbye to Los Angeles, but also the beginning of a project whispered over gimlets and oily coffees. The life of a roving woman, in which the golden hour is taken up as general disposition. 

The roving woman’s cartography is a car and a camera. Maybe a scratched-up mix CD for good measure. And middle finger to a fake anarchist’s crumbling apartment. And cherry-colored toenails on top, pretty please. With these tender tools, the treasure found is the map itself, pieced together bit by bit from the textures of the city and the women she picks up to join the ride. The map is no less generous for being particular. An opal-ringed hand reaches out to greet the ocean. A pair of sunglasses is left on a formica tabletop as a glittery offering to the temples of the great Dead Blondes of Hollywood. The cartographer, attuned as she is to women’s skin, is particularly enamored of Barbara Payton’s lush ruddiness. 

Joan Didion—whose books you might find well-thumbed copies of bouncing around a straw tote bag in the back of Emily's car—once wrote it’s easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends. But as the roving woman heads east and Shangri-LA shrinks to nothing more than a neon-sign in her rearview mirror, she’ll try to remember the first time it felt like home, and find it equally difficult. 

Fitted with her car and her camera and dressed for her love of light, the map will only grow. It might never really end.