Born in 1950 in Los Angeles, California. Worked as a photographer in the ’70s and attended shows throughout Los Angeles County. Currently lives in Santa Monica, California, where she works as an educator and disrupter, sharing life, work, creative secrets, and power tips for creative entrepreneurs online and in real life.
I REMEMBER IT VIVIDLY, as if it were yesterday. I was twenty-five, living in the Valley. I earned my BA in art from Cal State University, Northridge, and my Master of Fine Arts in design from the California Institute of the Arts. I was living in a little house in Granada Hills. While buying groceries and looking at a fairly new magazine called People, I saw a photo of this strange-looking woman who referenced Rimbaud. I don’t know anything about French Symbolist poetry, but you want to talk about Symbolist painters? I can talk for days. I knew of Rimbaud because of references in art history books I repeatedly studied. I bought Horses. I put it on the turntable. My life was never the same again.
I was a nice Jewish girl hearing somebody saying, “My sins my own, they belong to me.” I said, “Whatever that’s about, I want more.” I was and am one angry, frustrated, abused woman. I was beaten from a small infant till I was fourteen. Verbally abused till I was forty-eight. I was aware that the world is hostile if you looked a little different. Dark curly hair was cool for Annette Funicello, but not when straight blonde hair was in vogue. I was nothing. The outsider. Anybody who knows me, knows I live in my head—my own world. I just say what’s on my mind.
I was raised minimally Jewish in a very anti-Semitic country. Jews don’t believe in sins. Our trespasses against others, hurting people and mistakes we’ve made, whatever you want to call it, are not sins. They are “errors and omissions” in a legal term. Heaven and Hell are now. You have to deal with it now. I really loved Patti Smith’s statement of taking personal responsibility. Very personal and very political. The political is personal. From the Sex Pistols to the Clash, Ramones, Bags, X, Screamers, and so many early punk releases, people were saying vital statements.
This was November or December 1975. Patti Smith was playing at the Roxy in January 1976. I stood outside in the cold for a long time. I saw people get out of their cars and walk right in. I channeled Scarlett O’Hara from Gone with the Wind. I said, “As God is my witness, I don’t know how, but I’m going to be part of this. I can’t play, sing, write, or dance. I’m not pretty, so not a groupie. I don’t know what I can do, but I’m part of this now.”
In August, I saw the Ramones the first night. I sat at Dee Dee’s feet. His pronounced cheekbones inspired me to take photos. I had to take pictures of that man. He was gorgeous! The second night, I grabbed my camera. I met them. My life was changed forever. If I ever forget how I got into punk, take me out and shoot me. That is the most important memory in my life. Like being born.
It’s a strange contradiction that I was photographing rock and roll, but I never looked at rock and roll magazines. I grew up on Look and Life magazines and some others. Certainly those photos made an impact on my life. As a young teen, I started collecting movie history books. We had no access to DVDs, videotapes, cable, net, or anything beyond pizza on demand, if we had that. We simply could not see these films. I had no idea who these people were. I wanted to know why they were worth mentioning or remembering. I really wanted people to have that reaction when I took pictures. I wanted them to get lost in my photos as I got lost in early movie photos. I didn’t know much about photography. I didn’t go to rock shows much as a kid, because I didn’t drive till I was eighteen. I hate cars and don’t drive now. I’m not safe behind the wheel. I’m a daydreamer!
I was not then nor now much of a live rock and roll show fan. I don’t spend money on rock and roll. I spend it on my art. I listen to Broadway more than anything. I’m this famous punk rock photographer whose heart isn’t punk, but Broadway. That is what I wanted to do: photograph Broadway and ballet. I wanted to be Martha Swope. I grew up seeing her photo credits in the magazines. Color. Broadway. Ballet. I couldn’t imagine that as reality ’cause I heard it snows in New York. I’m a sunny Southern California girl.
We didn’t have photography in my art history books. I came to photography late. I had to teach myself how to develop film, make proofs, and make prints. I learned from articles in photo magazines. I’m lifelong DIY. I had no background in photography, dealing with the press, live rock, or rock magazine photos.
I studied art like nobody’s business. I compose like a painter. I always told people I was a photojournalist. I was very pure about that, because I wanted honesty. I lost some licensing for records, because I don’t have a lot of group shots backstage like the other photographers. Boring. I captured spontaneous real life. My goal was to photograph what I saw. I wanted people to see what I saw through my eyes. I succeeded. My intention was to document this cultural revolution unfolding in front of me. I set forth my intention before ever stepping foot into the Roxy.
I always called the Whisky my home away from home. I’d stand on the stairs at my favorite step. I’d photograph the stage. I got a little zoom lens. I could focus on an individual or the group. Now you can’t stand on stairs, because of all the stupid fire regulations and crap.
I would be standing there, with people constantly going up and down and up and down. The steps were always vibrating. I’d be jumping up and down, pumping one fist in the air, the other hand holding my camera, and singing along. Then I’d run upstairs to the backstage door, then up the backstage stairs. Then party time! I took so many fun and wonderful pictures backstage. It was just marvelous. Many great shows.
I even got pregnant in the upstairs backstage bathroom. Not too many people get pregnant backstage at the Whisky. I had an abortion November 11, 1978. It matters little to me. I never wanted children. I have no regrets. I’m grateful to the free clinic and easy access. Doctors and my mother always told me I couldn’t get pregnant. I didn’t have my diaphragm with me that night. But at the Whisky, anything can and did happen.
The Starwood was an interesting place. A lot of rooms. A lot of good pics and stories. X, Go-Go’s, Dead Boys, Damned. It was harder to shoot the stage there. I danced upstairs a lot at the Starwood.
I didn’t go that often to the Masque, ’cause I was working! I was shooting elsewhere or in my darkroom. I didn’t get paid. I didn’t have money to keep shooting L.A. bands. I wanted to document bands from New York, England, San Francisco, etc., but I took classic Germs photos and other photos at the Masque. The Masque was not my favorite place to shoot. The stage was too close to the ground. There was nowhere to set my camera down to change lenses. You couldn’t even pee there. Oh, the bathrooms were scary filthy! I sometimes left my camera home when I went to the Masque. Sometimes I got drunk like everyone else. But usually I took pictures. Many are in the Live at the Masque: Nightmare in Punk Alley book.
Alice Bag started her blog in 2005 or so. She had a page on the genesis of the song “Violence Girl.” I’m so thrilled Alice used my photos for that. It really means a lot to me, because I think the photos are shit. Bad exposure. Camera problems. I appreciate that people have brought value to my work. They see beauty in my work that I don’t see. Alice has always been the best friend to me. Alice saved my life in major ways. I love what she’s done with her life.
Some in L.A. punk do all they can to defame me because I share my stories and those of others, and my photos have been published since 1976. People think I’ve had it so easy and made lots of money. I wish! I’ve risen above a lot of abuse, neglect, lies, and crap. I’m still here. Artists must be strong and resilient. Especially women.
I was stunned to realize New York photographers actually collaborated and cared about each other. Not in L.A.! One woman photographer, whom I introduced to my punk pals a few years ago, goes on and on about how famous she is, while doing all she can to take me down. I’ve helped a few who stabbed me in the back, but I’m still here. L.A. punk was not one happy family, but that allowed us to do our own thing.
I believe there’s room for all of us. All who want to share stories and photos. There’s no best or single voice or vision. We all have something to contribute. Sadly, few share my point of view. I have more important projects in my life than rehashing all that. Not my loss. My life is full and exciting.
Sisterhood and punk don’t belong in the same sentence. I’ve met many amazing women, but, each of us were and many still are working on our own lives, which puts walls between us. I’ve helped photographers, writers, performers. Some have been so vitriolic to me. I’m stunned. I mourn the loss of friendship and misunderstandings but really, fuck it. I’ve got a lot more to give the world than worry about people who tell tall tales about me. I only mention this ’cause no one is immune to this stuff. You gotta just get on with your life.
There would not be a scene without the women. Anybody who says differently needs to look at photos, fanzines, and magazines—Back Door Man, Slash, Flipside, and smaller fanzines. Strip out the women, and there is not much left in L.A. I love early punk. Hardcore punk is a whole different animal. Hardcore punk was not female-friendly.
In early punk, women booked and produced shows, managed bands, wrote songs, wrote music criticism and reviews. There were the visuals: hair, makeup, clothes. Women were graphic artists, PR, and marketing. They worked at magazines, fanzines, record companies, management, and, yes, photography. And anything and everything else. Muse, fan, lover, friend. Who was gonna stop us? Punk was underground. As Patti Smith says, “We made it, take it back.” Women were always involved in art, music, culture. Ever see art credited to “Anonymous”? That’s women. Many men took credit for artistic and scientific discoveries that women created. No one could do that during early punk. Men have tried, the press believes them, but we know the truth.
I could talk for hours of the women in L.A. and their influence from being in the audience, onstage, and backstage. I have not read about other cities. We women are left out of the equation. L.A. and San Francisco are at the bottom of the punk coverage.
The story that’s not been told—not in documentaries, books, or movies—is how L.A. punk influenced the world and L.A. women were up front and center. I can say, with total conviction, that L.A. women took command. We did whatever the hell we wanted, when we wanted, the way we wanted. This doesn’t mean we got our way or became rich and/or famous. But we sure gave it all we got! And we changed the world.
Every day, I see in real life and online tons of Millennial women, Gen X-ers, and Boomers, male and female, with blue or purple or pink hair. I see black fingernails. I see deep, blood-red lipstick and dark eyes. I see hair, clothes, makeup, jewelry, accessories, and boots, all that we found and made and wore. I see punk influences everywhere—at Whole Foods, the farmers’ market, YouTube, business videos, ads, everywhere. It would be easier to list where punk hasn’t made a dent.
I don’t care what it is, you can do it. That is how punk really influenced the world in so many ways. When people say they missed out or wish they were me or alive then, I say, “Shut the fuck up.” There are all kinds of wonderful opportunities and things happening now. L.A. is alive with world-class art and growth. Things are hot here and so exciting. I’ve been closely following art communities and traction since I was a teen. L.A. has never been such a hotbed for artists.
I knew I needed to get my punk pictures into the computer and into the world. I embrace whatever technology tools to accomplish my goals and manifest my dreams. I built websites. I built computers. I taught computer programs and digital art, page layout, and web design at colleges. It was all in the service of others and art and built upon punk. My lifelong goal, starting when I was maybe four or so, was to leave the world a better place than I found it and to be around other artists.
Back then, I was looking for an art community, and I still am. My whole life. You have to constantly have an open-minded and open-heart attitude, or something great can be under your nose and you’ll miss it.