May you have a happy, healthy, fun filled, creatively inspired, friend packed, romantically infused, work of your dreams, service to others, heaped with gratitude New Year!
I always love this time of year in LA because the Christmas parties really kick into high gear. There aren’t as many of them this year because all pennies are being pinched but there was a killer one last night at a house RuPaul is renting for the month for just such holiday festivities. The added bonus last night was that it was our mutual friend, Tom Trujillo’s, birthday.
There’s nothing especially kitschy about all of us – except me I guess – but we all embrace our vast love of kitsch in the way we live and entertain. In Ru’s case, the house he rented takes appreciation of the genre to staggering heights.
First, some of the attendees and then, more photos of the kitschtacular edifice itself. Here’s a closer shot of Ru, me, birthday boy Tom, and Prudence Fenton.
Here I am with Santino Rice, of Project Runway and RuPaul’s Drag Race fame:
I love my soul sistas and sisters in real life, Scherrie Payne, formerly of The Supremes, and Freda “Band Of Gold”, “Bring The Boys Home” Payne.
Here’s me and five-time Grammy-winning composer, producer, conductor, arranger, and songwriter, Mervin Warren.
(L-R) Mito Aviles, Prudence, me, ChadMichael Morrisette and RuPaul.
Now onto the co-star of the evening, the house, mansion, palace or whatever you want to call it. First of all, it was massive. From the street it just looks like a long bush but from the back, if you put the following three photos side-by-side, it’s a hunka hunk o’ burnin’ living space:
The entire outside of the house is distressed so you constantly felt like you were whizzing through Europe.
There are three floors that I know of, possibly more, but we had already walked so much I was going to have to hire a car to take more of the tour. Most of the ceilings look something like this:
Many of the ceilings twinkled:
Most of the walls gave lots of time to the women:
The walls that weren’t giving props to the ladies had screens embedded in them with moving images of exotic places:
All of the staircases are very rustic yet ornate:
There are tons of little seating areas like these:
And lots of statues everywhere:
That statue overlooks the pool which overlooks the city of LA…
… and leads to a disco complete with a stripper pole downstairs:
I don’t know what I was thinking not taking a photo of the unbelievable pole dancer from Jumbo’s Clown Room who came to entertain Tom. I guess I was too busy running around taking photos of myself next to all the statues.
Pound for pound, it was a wonderful night with wonderful friends inside a wonderful wheel of brie house. I’m sure I’ll be back before Ru’s rental is up…
Anyone who’s ever driven past Norwood Young’s house in LA knows that it’s a prime candidate for a Kitschmas smorgasbord unlike all others. Depending on who you talk to, known affectionately or despicably as the House of Davids, it has enough wrought iron to circle the White House, all of which protects the 21 statues of David that line the driveway upon which usually sits Norwood’s jewel encrusted Rolls Royce. Here’s what Youngwood Court, as it’s officially known, looks like all year except December:
I, of course, worship at the altar of this edifice and landscaping that depict a victory for self expression through statuary that has driven many of Norwood’s neighbors crazy ever since he moved in umpteen years ago.
After years of religiously driving past the corner of Third and S. Muirfield if I was even remotely in the area I finally went to a party at Norwood’s about 10 years ago. As luck would have it, he was a songwriter and a fan of my songs so in years to come I got to enter the palace many times.
Unfortunately, that shot was taken at Patti LaBelle’s birthday party this year, which was NOT held at Youngwood Court which looks much more like this on the inside:
But this post is all about the outside and celebrating the Christmas spirit in a way that only Norwood can.
Sunday night I made my yearly pilgrimage to his place for the turning on the lights ceremony, complete with performances by the man himself and real snow that somehow managed to stay frozen despite the 80° weather that day.
Norwood had on a fabulous red velvet suit. I, unfortunately, had on the same outfit I wore to Patti’s birthday party:
Despite my fashion faux pas, I documented the fabulous insanity on the front lawn as I have in all years past.
So, in no particular order, here’s a sample of Christmas 2010 at Youngwood Court. Mind you, the Christmas models are all nude statues of David.
My eyeballs thank Norwood for this most merry Christmas tableau! I hope the neighbors appreciate their luck being this close to the West pole.
Here’s a video tour of my trip to visit Dona Miller, President of Vogue International, a 22,000 square foot wonderland of mannequin bodies and parts in The City of Industry, CA. You can’t believe how massive this place is and what a science there is to mannequins. Enjoy the video!
Hope you are having a big, bulging mannequin Monday!
In the land of kitschified 1960’s and 70’s decor there was no higher form of craft art than a bunch of resin grapes stuck on wire, drilled into driftwood vines and, if you were lucky, turned into lights. As much as resin grapes spread through living rooms of yore like asphalt, this is one of those buying trends that really exploded decades later with the growth of eBay. Ripped from the belly of garages and attics, these vestiges of middle class decorating tastes used to go for a few bucks a bunch. But in more recent years many have climbed into the hundreds. Yeah, you can still find a ratty little grouping of three or four scratched up grapes in the low-end of the pocketbook but the sets that are still in great shape, and especially the ones that have been turned into lamps and hanging lights, can go for a king’s ransom. But make no mistake about it, there are resin grapes and there are resin grapes. The 20 inch long grape beauty featured here is a masterpiece of RESIN GRAPES!
I’ve been collecting grapes for decades. I have plain old bunches that I scatter around the yard:
Some of them are multicolored:
Sometimes I group them with some of the ceramics that have hit the yard because they’ve cracked or chipped but are still too pretty to throw out:
There’s an area of my yard that’s like a retirement home for the grapes. I haven’t found their final resting spot yet but here they sit among their fellow fruit waiting for placement:
The really pretty grapes get to stay inside:
Among resin grapes, pink is one of the rarer colors.
Even rarer are the grapes that are lucky enough to have been turned into pineapple lamps. I have two of them:
As many resin grapes as I have, I haven’t gone as fruity as this person in East LA has:
My dream in life is to befriend whoever lives in this place. Can you even imagine what it’s like on the inside?!
But no matter how many grapes I should acquire over the coming years or how many more houses I stumble upon that treat the grapes like paint to cover drab walls, my twenty inch long hanging bunch is still the Godfather Big Kahuna Mighty Mighty of resin grapes as far as I’m concerned, lighting up my yard and life in all of its sweet grape spectacularness.
I got this squirrel planter last week when I was up in Sonoma recording. At least I think it’s a squirrel. Maybe it’s a gopher, or even a beaver. I’m not that up on my animals with buck teeth but whatever it is I love that it’s got two separate compartments and, as such, I will be putting it to work here at Willis Wonderland. I’m not sure if the squirrel/gopher/beaver will hold pencils in the large compartment and paper clips in the little ashtray/bowl or Q-tips in the large compartment and safety pins in the smaller one. These types of decisions are the joys of being a collector who actually uses what they collect as opposed to putting things behind glass as so many collectors do, squeezing the life out of the object whose role usually grinds to a halt because of such practices. Though as a whole I find that very few collectors of kitsch actually relegate their artifacts to imprisonment in glass jails. Kitsch lovers usually put their objects right to work. There’s a utilitarian pride in collecting such a genre, making this squirrel/gopher/beaver about to be very happy in its new home.
Speaking of new homes for squirrels, I have long been the enabler of fine living among the species. I apologize for the graininess of the following shots, all grabbed from videos at least 15 years old. This particular squirrel is enjoying a corn cob at a miniature picnic table and chair I erected for him/her to dine at.
Before I bought the squirrel his/her own patio set, he/she used to snack at my table:
A few times the squirrel dined in a fashionable 1950’s wrought iron planter:
And oftentimes when he/she was full he/she relaxed on the head of a statue that James Brown himself removed from my backyard when we wrote together in 1985 and he combed my collection for any mammys and Sambos and sent them packing.
After a few years I had to close the squirrel cafeteria because it just got too messy as every squirrel in Los Angeles eventually heard about it. As much as I miss all the activity in my backyard, this goofy little squirrel planter fulfills all my animal needs as he’s cute and I don’t have to feed him.
I’ve seen trillions of sculptures of hands giving the peace sign but this is the first time I’ve seen a foot flashing the international symbol of love and harmony. As if that wasn’t kitschy enough, a cheaper made sculpture you could never find. Adorned with a flimsy paper peace sign sticker and colored to make it look like rich wood, this peace foot is made of incredibly cheap plastic, lucky if it weighs an ounce despite being 6 inches tall. There’s no manufacturers mark anywhere on the appendage, as if whoever made it didn’t want to take credit for such a lovely and peaceful foot.
I’ve long said that everything about and around a person is a vehicle for self-expression. I mean the way you dress, how you decorate your living space, your hair, the plaster frog family on your front lawn, everything in your personal, physical and virtual environments is a canvas on and through which you show the world who you are. The driveway at The Allee Willis Museum Of Kitsch at AWMOK.com is packed with cars, campers and trucks that scream the personality of the person behind the wheel. Here are but a few examples of some such “I Am” vehicles. Click any of them for more info.
Were I to drive a truck it would most certainly look something like this:
If I were taking a summer road trip, here’s what I’d be steering:
Were I of that persuasion and super friendly with God I’d be pullin this down the highway:
If I were a butcher I might drive this. Then again, as far as “chick magnets” goes, this is the ultimate cock car:
If you were Angelyne you’d be tooling around the streets of LA in this living monument to cheesedom in stardom car. If you were lucky enough to be friends with Angeline you’d be tooling around with her.
If you like peas this vehicle is for you:
If you don’t like vegetables perhaps you like fruit:
Harry And David made a whole business of fruit. Here’s what they commissioned to have made in 1960:
If you’re a crafter, this muffler car might be more your speed:
If you’re really bad at directions this 1940’s coupe is for you:
Here’s a nice Sunday car:
If you need a tuneup or your teeth cleaned you might want to stop here:
And, of course, if you don’t want to take the highway you can always fly.
Every morning I wake up to a pile of notes that I’ve dropped on the floor from my bed the night before as I don’t like to keep anything in my head so I have a running chance of falling asleep. My M.O. is to scribble things down as soon as I think of them anyway so no brain space is occupied with to do lists or thoughts of any kind and creative ideas have ultimate room to race around and breed.
In general, I’m better at tackling things in the morning than letting them make mush of whatever brain cells are left by midnight but I will remember nothing unless it’s immortalized in solid print somewhere. This method works fine for me but it’s a horrifying sight every morning to see the river of notes that await me and threaten to overtake my day. So they all end up under this handy little 1950’s transparent plastic “Don’t Forget” hand that psychologically improves my mood just looking at it holding the tasks in place that lie before me.
Of course, within days the girth of the pile is enough to tip “Don’t Forget” over but I love the feel of the lightweight hand made in Hong Kong and never mind picking it up and rifling through the first couple of notes to see if there’s anything I can stand doing at the moment, thereby whacking away at the pile.
But most of the time I just spend looking at the delicate hand and ever-growing pile it’s meant to serve and protect. Everything eventually ends up getting done and I enjoy crumpling up the tasks and throwing them into the shredder so that they may eventually return to their natural pristine paper state and I can start scribbling on them all over again so my third hand has something to do.
It’s not often I get excited by a dish or bowl that’s solid white. It seems like such a missed opportunity for self-expression via a compelling color palette. But this brilliant sweep of 18 inches of ceramic, a stone cold product of the Space Age Atomic 1950’s, screams to be pristine hospital white, especially when its cargo is this complimentary of a match:
I’m not sure what the hole on the bottom is for as there are no breaks in the surface at the top but who am I to argue when the dish is so beautiful?
I’ve taken about 40 photos trying to get the manufacturers mark to show up better but it’s a series of blurry failed attempts. It almost makes you seasick to stare at it through human eyes let alone a camera lens. If I had created such beautiful work I’d be sure my name was a little more readable, throw some aqua glaze into the etching or something. To remedy this, I grabbed my one digital camera I’ve never been able to let go of, my Canon PowerShot SD 500, a cheap little thing that takes better macro shots than any camera I’ve owned. Between my cheap but reliable macro and cranking the levels and contrast up I can now tell you that this bowl was made by:
Imperfect signature execution or not, this is one of my favorite serving dishes I own. Thank God the sculptor was better at dragging their clay tool across smooth concave surfaces than signing their name. Not many Good & Plentys could have fit in those tiny crevices anyway.
