Martha Barrios has a gift: she can turn scraps of cloth into haute couture.
She sewed the dresses for all of the dolls that fringe the ceiling of her small one room apartment where she lives alone in the shadow of the 110 Freeway in Los Angeles. She worked as a seamstress when clothing manufacturers adorned the 110 corridor like sequins. When the clothing manufacturing industry unraveled in Los Angeles, Barrios turned to cleaning to pay her bills. She is now 60, and her work has slowed of late - her business has been squeezed by a slew of other younger cleaners willing to work for less. She only gets about two or three full days of work a week. Not one dollar of the money she earns is spent on anything other than basic necessities.
She sewed the dresses for all of the dolls that fringe the ceiling of her small one room apartment where she lives alone in the shadow of the 110 Freeway in Los Angeles. She worked as a seamstress when clothing manufacturers adorned the 110 corridor like sequins. When the clothing manufacturing industry unraveled in Los Angeles, Barrios turned to cleaning to pay her bills. She is now 60, and her work has slowed of late - her business has been squeezed by a slew of other younger cleaners willing to work for less. She only gets about two or three full days of work a week. Not one dollar of the money she earns is spent on anything other than basic necessities.