Lorey Sebastian: Tales of the Film Industry, Part 2

Continued from yesterday’s post (Lorey Sebastian: Tales of the Film Industry, Part 1), which tells how Lorey started in the film business.

Today—Lorey moves to Hollywood, in her own words:

I grew up in New York and got into the business there. Then I moved to California—unfortunately, because of a relationship with a man, which you should never do. At that time, every region had its own union. Chicago, Los Angeles, and New York all had separate entities. Because I wasn’t a member of the Los Angeles union, I couldn’t legally work within their guidelines. I had to take a lot of non-union films, making less than half of what I was accustomed to earning, without receiving benefits or contributing to my pension. But I did it hoping that, one day, I would get on the right movie—one that would be picked up by the union—and sign a contract that would get me in.

Eventually, I did. It was thanks to a wonderful producer who is no longer with us. He got the cinematographer of one particular film and me into the union by signing a contract halfway through production, which he had planned to do all along.

While I was finally able to work on union films, I found I wasn’t hired very often. There was already an established group of local, well-known insiders, and I wasn’t part of that circle. New York is a small enclave—a very tight-knit film community. There were only five still photographers when I was there, and there are still maybe five or six today. In Los Angeles, there were several hundred. In New York, I was a star. In LA, I was just a small fish in a huge pond. I survived, certainly, but not the way I had in New York. LA was never really kind to me, and I wasn’t happy there. I had moved for the wrong reason—for someone else—and by then, I was no longer with him. But I had already sold my New York loft, so there was no going back. I ended up buying a house and staying there for 14 years, always wanting to get out.

One Friday night, I hosted a dinner party. A friend brought along a woman who walked into my house, opened her checkbook, and told me she’d write a check for whatever amount I wanted. At first, I thought she was crazy because my house wasn’t for sale. But as the night progressed, I started thinking, Wait a minute, maybe my house is for sale! She came back Sunday morning, and by Monday, we were in escrow.

The following weekend, I drove to New Mexico. I had visited Santa Fe many times before to see friends who owned a hacienda in Nambé, so I knew northern New Mexico like the back of my hand. I had also traveled there with my parents since I was 17. I came out and rented a little casita at Ojo Caliente for a week. I didn’t know what my next move was, but I decided to look at real estate. I was interested in Tesuque if I could afford to buy something outright; if not, I figured I would head north. I knew Truchas very well from previous visits.

The second property I looked at was this house. I walked in and just knew it was the one. I bought it immediately and moved in seven years ago this November. The house was put together piecemeal, just like all these old adobes. Nothing is straight or regular. The walls are all over the place and certainly not plumb, and the paint dried with drip marks everywhere. The floors are made of very old tile that is chipping, dirty, and impossible to truly clean anymore. When I first moved in, I thought I should tidy it all up. Then I decided that I quite love it exactly the way it is.

Unbeknownst to me, the film business was just starting to boom in Santa Fe and Albuquerque at that time. I popped up out of nowhere with a massive list of film credits and became a star again. It felt just like living in New York—until our governor took away almost everything from us this year. (Under former Governor Richardson, the state of New Mexico offered highly successful tax incentives to encourage film production. The new governor, Susana Martinez, succeeded in her push to get state lawmakers to severely cap those incentives). She put the kibosh on it, and it’s deeply disappointing.

Every day, I would go to work—work that I absolutely love—and think, Look where I am! Then, every night, I got to come back to a home I love living in. How much more can you ask for out of life? I hope that when this comes up again in the legislature next year, she will realize she made a grave mistake. I don’t want to work outside the state. I have someone in my life now whom I originally knew in New York and reconnected with in New Mexico after 20 years. I am very happy in this relationship, and I don’t want to leave. I like it here, I like my friends, and I love living in Truchas. It is a community beyond community. I know that if I got sick in the middle of the night, I could call half a dozen people and they would immediately come help me.

I only hope that we can bring back what we had–our thriving film business. In the interim, I dabble with my pottery—making plates and bowls– which I get great enjoyment out of (the photos of her pottery show unfinished pieces and some molds—her work is currently being shown at Hand Artes Gallery here in Truchas).

Jeane here: While she doesn’t talk about it much and never name-drops, the life Lorey leads would be considered glamorous by most. She works with, befriends, and entertains people we all know well from the silver screen. Yet, while she loves her life and her work, what she enjoys most is traveling in an RV with her partner.

“I love the emptiness of it,” she says. “It’s stripped of all the material stuff we both own in our homes. I don’t need any of that to be happy. These are all things I’ve acquired over a very long period of time, but if the situation were right, I could live in a box and be happy. In the RV, it’s just us and our animals. There’s nothing else to look at but what’s right in front of you—me at him, him at me, and out the windows. We sit and cook outside a lot, enjoying the sunrises and sunsets. It’s a completely different lifestyle, and I love it.”

Of the tales she feels unable to share publicly, she notes, “It’s a shame because I do have great film stories. There are actors I’ve worked with who are the absolute gems of the earth and made my job remarkable. I would love to tell you about the people who gave so much to my life and my work. Maybe another time… maybe when I retire.”

Stay tuned!

(Note: Much of the art in these photos, collected over the years, is by local artists right here in Truchas.)

Love to you all,

Jeane