Photographer Larry Sultan’s Unconventional Exploration of Pornography Sets in California’s San Fernando Valley

In the heart of California’s San Fernando Valley, nestled within a residential dwelling adorned with vibrant purple curtains, adult film actor Sharon Wild poses for a photograph during a break, perched casually on a worn and weathered mattress, a delicate piece of pink fabric draped artfully over the edge. A plastic dracaena tree stands sentinel in the corner, while the room’s props – a solitary lamp, a brown suitcase neatly arranged on a rack – subtly evoke an air of setting and narrative.

This seemingly ordinary scene caught the eye of American photographer Larry Sultan during a shoot for men’s magazine Maxim in the late 1990s. Serendipitously, this led Sultan back to his childhood neighborhood in the Valley, which had transformed into a hub for adult film entertainment studios due to its affordability and proximity to Los Angeles. Over several years, he returned to photograph these temporary homes, as well as studio sets that replicated scenes of American domesticity with striking immediacy.

“The Valley,” published as a book in 2004, continues to feature images from this series in exhibitions showcasing Sultan’s work. His portrait of Wild is currently on display at Yancey Richardson’s eponymous gallery in New York for its 30th anniversary exhibition.

In his book, Sultan pondered the peculiarity of homes temporarily co-opted by adult entertainment, likening it to a sudden departure of families overnight. The interiors and furnishings reflected a familiar middle-class domestic life – often reminiscent of his own childhood – yet they had been repurposed for the performance of pleasure and sex.

Sultan’s wife, Kelly, was present during the fateful Maxim shoot. Reflecting on that day, she recalled Sultan’s fascination with the home itself: “The details of daily life still lingered in the house, serving as a backdrop for this alternative family temporarily occupying it.”

Throughout the images, the acts themselves are relegated to the periphery, hinted at obliquely through reflections, cropped frames, or playful obscuration by plants and furniture.

Assistant photographer Rebecca Bausher recalls Sultan’s quest for insights into the psychological interior of these settings: “He was always looking for clues to excavate this inner psyche we all possess. We’d walk into a setting, and there might be an ongoing sex scene off in a bedroom or to the side. But he’d be captivated by something else entirely – like a menorah.”

In homes, Sultan sought out a sense of place and belonging. However, in production studios, the incongruities became the central focus: curtains pulled back to reveal the studio wall; living room furniture haphazardly assembled together, clothing scattered about; the facade of a suburban street disrupted by studio props.

The portrait of Wild, with her intent gaze directed at the camera, represents one of the rare instances where Sultan’s presence was acknowledged by the actors.

In an interview with the Oakland Museum of Contemporary Art in 2003, Sultan described his approach: “I see myself on porn sets as documenting fictions. I like the theatrical lighting, I like their staging, I like that kind of weird theater. What I’m doing, however, is not making film stills; rather, I’m creating almost contra film stills. I’m capturing those moments that are off – where the drama isn’t being targeted at that precise moment. It’s an anti-dramatic moment.”

In the same interview, Sultan acknowledged the peculiarity of the scene featuring Wild and the constructed nature of the setting: “When I see some purple curtains, I grab my camera. Give me purple curtains and a red suitcase, and I am in heaven!”