By Mario Prietto

In science class, students are taught that hard physical matter is made up of rapidly moving, combining and bonding particles at an atomic level. We're taught about the expanding universe, carbon-dating, the ozone layer, entropy, and that the nature of our reality is change. Blah blah blah - it's all boring terms to memorize for tests and fodder for trippy rock lyrics until we grow up and re-visit the neglected photo albums our elders have kept for us.

"This table," knocks the science teacher, "is a swarming mass of atomic particles whose bonds create for us, at this level, solidity."

This photo of us, still for a half a minute, is who we were right then, solid, and fixed in space, and that's how we'll always be, posed forever as our ceremonial costume commands.

Most of these images are preceded and followed by considerable movement, laughter, fussing, primping, and laughing. The adult world which welcomes these young people commands a moment of stillness to capture the transition from this to that, from son to man, girl to woman, from freedom to membership, from exit to commencement.

Back when mothers made the dresses and the palm trees barely reached above the homes, we had to stand very still for the camera. Document the dress, record the new aluminum siding on the house, spread the gospel of the boss rims on the tricked out Beetle, Gary! "Alleluia," thousands of dollars spent on the bat mitzvah'd young lady up high in the chair. "Ooh la la", skirted teenagers snapping Instamatic photos of each other. "Control Yourselves," say the sixteen clasping hands of the American Indian High School Queen and her court. A sneaky "Heh-heh-heh" is shared with the rascally friends of our Torah-cake-cutting young man of Encino. "Here I am" say some of the solo portraits of debuting young women while others clearly say "There She Is."

It's easy to numbly thumb through cap-and-gown-with-family photos and miss the intergenerational depth, the social significance of certain snapshots. In the photograph of Paul Mayakawa and his family, we see Issei and Nisei posing together in a moment which springs from suffering and reaches toward promise. It's 1948, and we assume that not only has the family just recently returned from an internment camp, but that someone (most likely the father) is also a veteran of World War II.

Twenty-four years later, it is 1972. Seventeen-year-old Sai Momoli's brother has recently died in Vietnam, and this Samoan American enlists in the Armed Forces. His face shows a resignation that nobody his age has the experience to mask.

Twenty-two years go by, and Esteban solemnly celebrates his birthday by declaring his individuality with a tattoo of a UPC code on his forearm.

In these photos from the "Shades of L.A." collection, we get brief static glimpses at people in motion towards a promise for more solidity. We witness parents living through their children, and we see ourselves on both sides. Under the lace and behind the gown, there is subtly exploding fission, volcanic puberty, forced smiles masking secret smiles. There are plans being made, steps being taken, declarations of independence with breath held - each of us stopped for an instant, under the spell of the "1,2,3 and..."

When Mario Prietto writes, it is mostly music. When Mario Prietto works, it is social work, helping young people find their path towards education and careers which match their gifts and their dreams. Prietto's family was involved in the "Shades of L.A." project since its inception; he lives in Silverlake with his wife and two daughters.