‘Beautiful Losers’ director Aaron Rose’s Silver Lake art house

The open floor plan suits Rose. Glass doors, out of frame to the right, and skylights in the vaulted ceiling allow in plenty of light. “It’s always sunny and happy in here,” says Rose, who uses the long span of polished concrete flooring to lay out arrangements of art.

The space is divided into vignettes for working, dining, playing music and sleeping. One downside: “It’s a little awkward because the bathroom and closet are on the opposite end from the bedroom,” Rose says. “That actually helped me decide where to put the living room area; I didn’t want visitors to be able to hear when the bathroom was in use.”

The “Su Casa Mi Casa” sign on the far wall is by New York artist Steve Powers], who appears in Rose’s film.  (Stefano Paltera / For The Times)

In what others might use as a breakfast nook, Rose paints on an old library table purchased at a Sunset Boulevard junk store for $150.

A musician in what he calls a “low-fi bookstore rock” combo — the Sads — Rose calls canvasses “pretentious and gross” and instead uses One Shot sign paint on old musical instruments and suitcases. “I prefer things with girth and multiple sides,” he says, “and I give all my art away to friends.” Rose attached pegboard to the back of metal industrial shelving in order to hang up posters and a flag made by New Jersey artist Matt Leines. “I’m obsessed with his work,” Rose says, “so there are a lot of tigers in my house.”  (Stefano Paltera / For The Times)

Rose plays his collection of vinyl recordings on a retro-style Crosley turntable that he customized with paint, stickers and paper. The discs sit on a flea market coffee table. “I bought it because it had a little drawer in it, and when I pulled it out there was a ‘No Smoking’ sign with the ‘No’ cut off. I like messed up things like that.”  (Stefano Paltera / For The Times)

Rose made the most of an upright beam covered in masonry by turning it into a display area for masks bought in Europe and on Ebay. “I like mixing primitive things like African art and contemporary work,” he says. “That was done in a lot in museums in the 1940s and ’50s, and they play off each other, really well.”

Rose relates to the postwar period. “I am not living in some alternate beat generation universe, but I respect the way they lived. There was no separation between life and art. Some people might not be able to live like this, with the hodgepodge of it all. It is a lot of detritus, but beauty can come out of it. “

He hangs his rotating collection of art salon-style, an antidote to the clean and linear displays in white-walled galleries. Among his contemporary pieces: A painted bottle by Barry “Twist” McGee sits next to a red McGee print of three men with hair rendered in black spray paint. The “Gaviota” sign is by McGee’s late wife, Margaret Kilgallen.  (Stefano Paltera / For The Times)

A spun aluminum industrial light hangs over Rose’s vintage dinette set with iron chairs reupholstered in orange.

”’Dining room’ is a stretch,” he says. “It’s really a place to hang out and have conversation and coffee, which is the only thing I make.”

On the back wall, flanked by the kitchen and bathroom doorways: a Ryan McGinley portrait of fellow photographer Dash Snow in a ski mask. The photo is flanked by scooter jackets that Rose appliquéd with patches.

“I’m a low-fi craft person. My sewing skills are pretty rudimentary,” Rose says. “Sometimes I leave the house with the hems of my pants stapled in place.”  (Stefano Paltera / For The Times)

The entrance to Rose’s bedroom is crowned by a sign created by local tattoo artist Alexis Ross for an art event.

“It was the perfect size and message,” Rose says. Though most of the room is hung with black-and-white photography, a Sister Corita print, center, and a triptych of paper-and-spray-paint versions of Dutch postage stamps add blasts of color to the walls.

At the foot of his IKEA bed is an ottoman made by an artist friend who uses cupcakes as a recurring motif in her work.  (Stefano Paltera / For The Times)

No matching sheets? No problem. Rose often uses sheets as drop cloths and doesn’t have any complete bedding ensembles, so he mixes textiles and patterns with abandon.

The crochet afghan, a thrift-shop buy, reminds him of those made by his grandmother. “It’s not typically masculine, but I like the different textures. It looks tough but also soft.” The striped Mexican blanket had decorated the back seat of his vintage car. “The bedroom should be fun,” he says.  (Stefano Paltera / For The Times)

Vintage cocktail highballs bought at Goodwill and rose-print glasses (four for less than a dollar at a 99¢ Only Store) sit on a shelf above Amish Hex signs that he bought online.

“The designs are beautiful, and I like that they are all about good luck and hospitality,” Rose says. The original 1950s basin below has been transformed from kitchen sink to art cleanup station. “Which is why,” Rose says, “there is paint thinner on the counter.”  (Stefano Paltera / For The Times)

“If milk didn’t have to be refrigerated, this would be empty,” Rose says of his icebox. Other than giving him another place to hang posters, he adds, “it’s a utilitarian object that fulfills my most basic needs: caffeine and sugar and film.”  (Stefano Paltera / For The Times)

A stack of vintage Samsonite and American Tourister cases await personalization by Rose’s paintbrush. They also serve as storage for Rose’s band gear. “It’s a great place to stash cords,” he notes, “and it looks so professional.”  (Stefano Paltera / For The Times)

Rose’s two-sided bookcase serves as a room divider. But there’s one problem. “I hate looking at the inside pages of books,” he says.

His quick fix? Concealing them behind books propped on wooden picture easels purchased from Aaron Brothers and spray-painted gold and black. In the foreground, a book about artist Raymond Pettibon features a baseball player that coordinates with a hanging graffiti baseball bat by Phil Frost.  (Stefano Paltera / For The Times)

In the six years he has lived in Los Angeles since moving back from New York, Rose has set up residency in nearly as many places. “I have noticed that once a place has reached its maximum potential, then it’s like a sandcastle — I knock it down and start over,” the Woodland Hills native says. “That’s the exact opposite of the way most people think, which is probably why I haven’t ever bought a place.”

In his latest home, books and works of art already number in the thousands. “I have friends with great midcentury homes, but those houses come with the architectural baggage of what it should be,” he says. “I prefer to have space that doesn’t come with a set of rules. My dream residence is a one-bedroom apartment with a 12-car garage.”  (Stefano Paltera / For The Times)