You know how I feel about Sundays, but their existence is justified for those beautifully worthwhile ones.
In Silver Lake near the intersection of Sunset and Santa Monica on Manzanita is what appears to be a junkyard. Piles upon piles of stuff overwhelm you the moment you walk through the gate and enter the neat-freak’s nightmare and the pack-rat’s dream. Old wooden doors lean against each other for support, while ceramic lamps and glass windows precariously perch at every corner, waiting for the clumsy explorer to stumble upon them.
A few glances at price tags and the junkyard feeling falls away; the already surreal becomes more so. These antique-store prices in a junkyard setting encourage my curiosity. My inner consumer is put into abeyance, and instead I ponder what makes these objects, peeling in the sun, so worthwhile.
Delving through the excess you can find a whole section of toilets and a section of inaccessible chairs (blocked by an ill-placed section of tables). There are several platforms. Old carpeted stairs from some house, dislocated but still functional, lead up to one surprisingly sturdy wooden platform with more… stuff. There are lamps, cabinets, and shelves; random pieces of wood, glass and metal; and doorknobs, knockers, and handles. It’s as if everything ever picked up by a Kansas tornado has been dumped in this one spot: stuff you could use, stuff you couldn’t imagine a use for; newer stuff, old stuff you could fix up; stuff that’s likely rare and antique, stuff from a few years ago; all stuff that once inhabited people’s habitations.
After weaving your way through the outside, you come to a warehouse with even more obscure objects to desire. Things that were once walls or windows or entryways separate the blank canvas warehouse space into rooms and alcoves where you can find an old record player, a European radio, several typewriters of various ages, an old phonograph, many lamps and chandeliers, and table stacked on table stacked on table housing various
lamps,candles, knickknacks, boxes and tins.
As you wind your way through this maze, you discover many magnificent and some lesser treasures (which could be considered junk save for the fact that they currently reside in this post-modern museum, this 3D interactive art piece).
There are more doors—sliding metal bank vault doors, and dungeon-looking doors. There are stained glass windows, old and new. There are chairs that need to be refinished or reupholstered and chairs in good working order. There are chandeliers sitting beside red Radio Flyer wagons full of nuts and bolts. There are shelves full of faucets and soap dishes.
As you continue towards the back, it gets darker and quieter. The electricity was apparently only out temporarily, but it created a nice atmosphere of mystery and discovery. You start to feel like Argo, sifting through the wreckage of the Titanic for the first time in 73 years, surrounding by silent old objects implying, rather than telling, their stories. In the very back, there is yet another impromptu platform with more strange beautifully ugly things,such as a spaceship-looking disco ball.
The man working there (not the owner but seemingly responsible for the day-to-day operations) was very friendly and informational. Apparently much of the stuff is salvaged from homes about to be demolished, which explains the range from modern to antiquated (Ikea to Victorian). Some is donated from different sources. There are new shipments daily.
And the people who buy the stuff are as diverse as the stuff itself. Some things are used as props/stage decoration for shows, such as Jimmy Kimmel Live. Some are bought by contractors or new homeowners decorating or renovating. Probably antiques collectors/dealers find a few treasures there. And I imagine regular Janes and Joes stumble upon a thing or two they just have to have as well. Everyman needs a spaceship disco ball in his life, after all.
