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My archives, cheap paperbacks, and 30 years in L.A.

2 hours ago
5 min read

I mentioned in my last post how I’ve spent many years (since 2008 at least) collecting images and originals of Richard Amsel’s work, painstakingly color-correcting and retouching almost all of them in Photoshop. The process was laborious, and I openly admit that I often took it to nearly manic, obsessive-compulsive levels.

 

When I finally finished this past summer, I got in my car, drove to my favorite Thai restaurant thirty minutes away, and made a private, quiet toast to Richard’s work over a glass of diet soda and a plate of satay beef skewers.

 

Sigh of relief. One part of the project was done at last. I don’t have an exact count of what’s in my collection, but it’s easily 1500+ digital files. Every piece of Amsel art entails every source image I could possibly find, and numerous retouched drafts. (I did over 10 digital versions of Amsel’s 1982 RAIDERS poster alone, just to make sure the colors were right.) And these don’t include all the motion graphics that will be featured in the film.

 

Throughout this journey (however tacky that word may seem, I think it’s well-earned after all these years), one of the biggest personal thrills I’ve had is when I discover a piece of art I had not seen before. This is particularly true of Amsel’s formative years, and his early career.

 

It’s true that his movie poster for Hello Dolly! – done while he was still a student at the Philadelphia College of Art – earned him significant attention. But one success alone isn’t enough to secure a working artist with a guaranteed career or golden parachute.

 

Throughout the late 60s and early 70s, Amsel took on a lot of projects to make a living, establish his name, and get his work out there. For every movie poster and TV Guide cover, there must have been dozens of other smaller, even obscure illustration jobs – some published, others not. I doubt anyone will ever have a complete record of all of them.

 

Even Amsel’s published paperback book covers, for such prominent companies as Ballantine and Penguin, can be hard to come by or identify. Some I found by pure chance while perusing used book stores, others came to me through online referrals, personal correspondence with collectors, Amsel’s friends and associates, catalog records, eBay, Amazon, you name it.

 

You’d be surprised how difficult researching some images can be. They might as well have been published in 1870 rather than 1970, considering the work involved finding them.

 

To show just the tip of this creative iceberg, I’ve selected a number of paperback book covers for you to see here. By no means comprehensive, I've chosen these specifically as they represent female-centric stories.

 

Amsel had, after all, a knack for capturing both feminine glamour and sensitivity.


 

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I wanted to close this week’s update on a personal note.

 

30 years ago this week, I moved to Los Angeles. I had never been there before, and hardly knew anyone.

 

I remember my mom crying goodbye as I pulled my car out of our driveway in New Jersey. Thus began a six-day cross-country drive that went from Bridgewater, New Jersey, through Pittsburgh, Akron, Indianapolis, St. Louis, Tulsa, Oklahoma City, Albuquerque, the Arizona meteor crater, Flagstaff, and ultimately ended in Anaheim. (I had to see Disneyland and that Indiana Jones ride, after all, on day one. My final destination in L.A. would come a day after.)

 

I look back on how my life was, then. I knew virtually no one in California, and my first apartment was a roach-infested, sweltering little studio hellhole in the mid-Wilshire district. A man was stabbed to death in my building, two floors beneath me. The neighborhood was full of violent crimes. OJ’s civil trial dominated the headlines. I missed my parents and my elderly cat. I was perpetually broke, and the credit card bills were mounting.

 

I struggled through many of those early years. There were fair-weather friends, thankless jobs, abusive bosses, and every time I seemed close to having a dream come true, some terrible circumstance would happen at the last minute, dashing them again and again.

 

Later on, I’d eventually find safer places to live, a little more stability, and, best of all, a small circle of true friends. Even if my life wasn’t up to my expectations, it was, little by little, improving.

 

It seems that each of us goes through an inevitable rite of passage, as we stop growing up and start growing old. The deaths of my parents, especially my mother, was absolutely devastating. I frankly don’t think I could have endured it all had it not been for the support of my friends – including an adorable Siamese Snowshoe cat named Kubrick.

Kubrick, the siamese snowshoe cat, circa 2001.
Kubrick, the siamese snowshoe cat, circa 2001.

 

Now that I enter my 30th anniversary in California, I’m truly appreciative of the good people out there I feel privileged to know. Yes, the entertainment industry is notorious for fostering, even rewarding, its share of narcissists, liars, and all-around jerks. But there are good people out there, too. And as I get older, I find I have less tolerance and fear of the former, and a lot more reverence for the latter.

 

Now that I’m in my fifties, I’ve begrudgingly accepted the strong likelihood that I will not last long enough to see my golden anniversary in California. No matter. I’m grateful for what years are still ahead of me, especially now that I have a family to share them with, and a home to call my own. It certainly took me long enough.

 

That’s not to say I’ve yet to grow up. I’m still a dork, a geek, and a complete misfit. I’m anything and everything but cool.

 

But you know what? I’m absolutely A-fucking-OK with that, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

 

To all those who have given me their friendship, their guidance, their kindness and generosity, I am grateful to each and every one of you.

 

 

Your Support  

Independent documentary filmmaking relies entirely on the passion and generosity of the community. If you believe in preserving the history of queer artists and the golden age of Hollywood illustration, please consider making a contribution to our project. Our film is a fiscally sponsored project of Fractured Atlas,a 501(c)(3) non-profit arts service organization. Contributions for the charitable purposes of our documentary are tax-deductible to the extent permitted by law. Thank you for helping us keep Richard Amsel's creative legacy alive.

 

 

 

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