Years ago, when I dropped out of school, I was determined to surround myself with objects and ideas that were interesting and important. I pored over art books and made a point to visit museums and galleries. I began taking my own photographs, and in 20 years I have archived some 25,000 photos, many of which form the basis for my new book. I became a pretty avid and eclectic collector: There’s a Ryan Price drawing that hangs in my kitchen, a Hugh Holland photograph and a Brigitte Waldach the size of a small wall that hangs in my daughter’s room. Recently, for my birthday, my husband [art adviser Will Kopelman] gave me an Ed Ruscha, whose work I’ve always loved.
I bought this Dennis Hopper photograph five years ago at a group show at the Craig Krull Gallery in Santa Monica. I was—I am—the biggest fan of his work as an actor and an artist. Hopper started taking Polaroids like this one in the 1980s, and this piece is pretty representative of his work from that time. He was known for his fascination with graffiti and street culture; his documentation of the way L.A. used to look is something I’ve always been drawn to as well. I’ve never been inclined to buy lithographs or photographs because they are reproduced, but a Polaroid will always be an original. But more, it just spoke to me: this great, minimalist building, the blue sky and this masculine, gritty, taboo single perfect word. It’s currently leaning against a fireplace in my house, but it’s been moved throughout every room.
Generally, I just buy what I like: It doesn’t have to be expensive or famous for me to enjoy it. In fact, I’m often intimidated by large price tags. I have my cap, and I usually don’t go above it, except once or twice in the bluest of moons. I don’t always know the name of the artist—it’s about loving the piece.
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