Lifestyle
After her son’s death, she found a new purpose. ‘He’s whispering: Mom, this is your path’
It was after the death of her son, Laith, that Esme Saleh decided to become a folk artist.
She had always been creative, experimenting with watercolors and learning to sew and embroider at a young age.
“I had a creative inkling,” she said, “but I never pursued it.”
Everything changed on Aug. 17, 2013.
In this series, we highlight independent makers and artists, from glassblowers to fiber artists, who are creating original products in and around Los Angeles.
When Saleh was nine months pregnant, she woke up with stomach pains and presumed she was in labor. She and her husband, Nasim, immediately went to the hospital, where doctors checked her and put the baby on a heart monitor. Saleh’s blood pressure was high, however, and the baby’s heart rate kept dropping. After about an hour, his heartbeat stopped. Doctors rushed her in for an emergency C-section, but it was too late. Laith did not survive.
Saleh lost a tremendous amount of blood and developed postpartum HELLP syndrome, a dangerous form of preeclampsia, but doctors were able to stabilize her.
When she woke up, the first thing she asked was, “How’s my baby?”
After losing her son in 2013, Esme Saleh left her job as a television producer. Since then, she has sold her hand-painted candles to local designers in Los Angeles and to LVMH in Paris.
“Aug. 17, 2013, was the most difficult day of my life, and Aug. 22 was the second most difficult, the day we drove home with an empty car seat,” she said of her and her husband’s new reality.
They named their son Laith Finn Saleh.
“His first name means ‘lion’ in Arabic. His middle name is an ode to Huckleberry Finn — sharp wit, kind heart, strong moral compass — all the attributes he’s imparted on us in spirit,” said Saleh, 45.
After such a devastating loss, she found it difficult to trust the world again. “It was hard to trust anything,” she said. “The medical system. Myself. It made me realize the fragility of bringing anything to life. We take so much for granted.”
So after years of working as a television producer, Saleh left broadcast journalism and leaned into her creative spirit.
She grew up in San Diego. Her mother was raised on a farm in Mexico, and her father moved from Tijuana to Los Angeles to be near her mother, who started working for a family in Sherman Oaks at 16. They eventually settled in San Diego, where Saleh’s father, now a church deacon, worked as a car salesman.
“The word Mystic has also become a driving force of what this journey means to me,” Saleh says. “A magical, otherworldly journey that has led me to some beautiful friendships, projects and unlimited well of curiosity. When I paint each pair of candles, it feels like I’m imparting a piece of that magic.”
“He always wanted to be a weatherman on TV,” she said, explaining how he hoped to get his big break on television by doing a weather report from the car lot.
Saleh wanted to be a broadcast journalist as her father had. After graduating from San Diego State, she interned in the sports department at CBS affiliate KFMB-TV although she didn’t know much about sports. She enjoyed sharing information with people, learned how to write plays of the week and felt she had found the right career.
But during a summer class at Mesa College, she started to think journalism might not be for her.
Saleh’s home is filled with her artwork. “My home expresses a lot of the things that I do,” she says. “If it works here, then I feel like I can put it out in the world.”
“I’m an empath — a sensitive soul — so when I was reading news about death and destruction, my eyes could not lie,” she said. Her professor told her, “This may not be your thing.” But when she arranged flowers on camera, she really came alive. She decided to work behind the scenes as a producer.
Her professor helped her get her first network news job in 2003, and she moved to Los Angeles, working on hard news and entertainment coverage.
After losing Laith a decade later, she couldn’t keep doing red-carpet interviews and acting like everything was fine. “It all felt so different, superficial and hard,” she said. “I felt like there was a bigger purpose out there for me. It’s in the small things that we find the big things.”
She started by painting folk art-inspired invitations for a friend’s baby shower. She painted delicate flowers, oranges and leaves on glass, leather and even lampshades. She created a logo. “I was just trying to say yes to things that were really scary,” she said. “Laith gave me the courage to do that.”
“I was just trying to get out of hole,” Saleh says of taking up painting after her son died.
Her first son, she said, became “a catalyst for painting.”
Then, at the first Thanksgiving during the COVID-19 pandemic when people could gather again, she had a light-bulb moment. “I was setting the table and didn’t have flowers or anything to add to decorate, so I thought, ‘I have these candles. I’m going to paint them and make them fancy,’ ” she said.
Her guests were impressed.
As time went on, painting taper candles helped her find joy again, and others noticed too.
“The one thing I hear when people pick up a pair of my candles is, ‘This makes me so happy. It makes me feel like there’s life here,’ ” she said.
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1. Saleh sometimes leads painting workshops where participants can decorate items like ornaments and lampshades.
2. Leather napkin rings Saleh has painted for Nathan Turner. 3. Saleh’s hand-painted candles retail for approximately $42 to $50.
One of the hardest parts of losing a child “is that you’re not just grieving the person, you’re grieving the future you imagined with them,” said Chicago-based grief specialist Carla Harvey. “A lifetime of love suddenly has nowhere to go. Creating art doesn’t erase grief, but it can become a way to carry it.”
Saleh created her brand Mystic by Esme in 2021, but it took her some time before she could gather the courage to try to sell them.
When she brought a shoebox full of samples to Nickey Kehoe, the L.A. store agreed to carry her candles. “I was beside myself,” Saleh said.
“Her candles were absolutely beautiful, and she had a fantastic spirit that made selling them a no-brainer,” said interior designer Todd Nickey, co-founder of Nickey Kehoe.
Saleh gets a surprise kiss from her dog Olive while painting candles at her dining room table.
Saleh viewed her new side project as a way to earn extra money for piano lessons for her 11-year-old son Linus, who is an entrepreneur like his mother. “I felt proud painting the candles while he was in lessons in the next room,” she said. “It became this circular economy, and it led to bigger opportunities for me.”
Last year, luxury conglomerate LVMH commissioned Saleh to paint 465 pairs of candles, or 930 candles in total, for its Chaumet jewelry brand. The collection was unveiled at an elaborate event at the Abbaye des Vaux de Cernay, just outside Paris.
“It was fun,” Saleh said about the process, which took six months from conception to delivery. “I felt like I was dressing my candles up for a party.”
Always a hard worker, which she attributes to being a first-generation child of immigrant parents, Saleh has now created a candle collection for Pierce and Ward in Los Feliz, leather napkin holders for interior designer Nathan Turner and pomegranate wrapping paper for Olive Ateliers. The candles retail between $42 to $50 for a pair, and recently, she developed a handsome pewter candle shaver that will be released in the winter.
Her dining room can sometimes feel like “an assembly line,” Saleh says.
Saleh holds a pair of candles she has embellished with florals.
Occasionally, she leads painting workshops, and she loves helping others tap into their creativity. The most meaningful one for her was an ornament workshop attended by several victims of the 2025 Los Angeles wildfires. “Without saying anything, we understood each other,” she said. “I understood that they were trying to create memories.”
Saleh knows what it means for things not to last — “impermanence,” she calls it — whether it is homes, candles or life itself.
She paints every day in the art-filled dining room of her home (unless it’s Little League season), surrounded by her family, candles and her two dogs, Lennon and Olive. ”Painting is like meditation,” she said. “You can sit in your dining room and tune everything out and just be in the moment.”
Even the family’s summer bucket list receives an artistic flourish.
An arch inside Saleh’s home receives a personalized touch.
She knows painting candles isn’t new, but she believes her motivation and the care she puts into each candle makes them special beyond their looks.
She has learned to look at the world that way, that painting in her dining room has offered her healing and joy, that she can trust herself and her body, that continuing to be inspired by her two boys — “one in spirit and the other here on Earth” — means that Laith will always be with her.
Many people think healing means moving on, said grief specialist Harvey, but “it’s really about finding ways to move forward while keeping the people we love woven into our lives. That’s what I see in her candles, not an ending, but an ongoing relationship with her son.”
“I feel like my son is channeling through this medium,” Saleh said, her voice breaking as she painted a taper. “He’s whispering to me, ‘Mom, this is your path.’ That has been my driving force. We’re going to grow this together.”
Monica Barbaro and Callum Turner in One Night Only.
Nicole Rivelli/Universal Pictures
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Nicole Rivelli/Universal Pictures
A wise man once said, Sex is natural, sex is good / Not everybody does it / but everybody should.
Don’t take this declaration literally — have sex if you want to, or don’t have it if you don’t. It’s the sentiment that’s admirable, the notion that sex doesn’t have to be shameful, rigid or distressing. It can be fun! It can be freeing! It can be weird, but in a good way! That spirit seems to have carried over into this summer’s movie season in some big ways: The buzzy comedies I Want Your Sex and The Invite have been enthusiastic champions of unconventional sex and sexuality.
And this week brings two more films where desire and straight-up horniness are top of mind — Jane Schoenbrun’s excellent Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma and Will Gluck’s infuriatingly sex-negative One Night Only. The latter stars Monica Barbaro and Mr. Dua Lipa — er, Callum Turner.
As the end credits rolled at my One Night Only screening, I thought to myself, Did they really put out a mainstream sex-negative rom-com, in the year 2026, arguing for the so-called “upsides” of living under an authoritarian government? Also known as “the sex Purge movie” — because it echoes the popular action-horror franchise – director Gluck and writer Travis Braun’s high-concept dystopian love story is about two hot New Yorkers who keep having awkward meet-cutes during the one 12-hour-period a year when Americans are legally allowed to have pre-marital sex. (When the movie begins, the country is three years into the congressional mandate, which is enforced via biosensors branded on the wrist indicating one’s status as single or married.)
It’s an inherently fascinating premise that could, in the right hands, be taken in creatively curious directions, interrogating right-wing policing of women’s and queer people’s bodies or even Gen Z’s supposed collective aversion to sex in most forms. That latter issue is of particular interest to Gregg Araki’s I Want Your Sex, which sees Olivia Wilde’s freewheeling artist character enter an ethically dubious yet consensual sexual relationship with her much younger employee, played by Cooper Hoffman.
But apart from a throw-away line here and there, One Night Only is thoroughly uninterested in engaging with the politics it explicitly conjures beyond a few clever sight gags. Instead, it leaves you with more questions than answers, thanks to unclear and avoidant world-building. (For starters: What, exactly, qualifies as “sex”? How do queer people and visitors from abroad factor into all of this?) The movie merely gestures at resistance against the mandates, and does so only half-heartedly and insidiously; the one character we see defy the law is made out to be an all-around deviant with a long rap sheet.
And then there are multiple characters who outright state that just maybe, government-mandated year-round celibacy forces people to be “intentional” about who they sleep with — as if it’s a lemonade-from-lemons kind of situation. (Completely ignored is what it might mean to force couples into marriage who otherwise wouldn’t tie the knot, doing so just so they can have sex without fear of arrest.) To make all the pro-Gilead vibes even less digestible, the script’s humor is second-rate, and Barbaro and Turner just don’t give off the necessary heat to be the central couple. It fails in its dystopia and as a rom-com.
It’s a wonder One Night Only is being released the same week as Jane Schoenbrun’s Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma, a great, gory and viscerally sensual meditation on old-school slasher flicks. The two movies couldn’t be more different in their approaches to sex; their simultaneous arrival is like the inverse of the Armageddon and Deep Impact twin-movies phenomenon of 1998. For Schoenbrun, sexual anxiety — presented here in the form of internalized societal judgment, among other things — is a hurdle to be overcome through confrontation with the self, not shrugged-off acceptance. Kris (Hannah Einbinder), a young queer indie filmmaker, has been tapped to reboot Camp Miasma, the fictional horror franchise that was key to her sexual awakening as a kid (think Halloween, Friday the 13th). She seeks out its now-reclusive original star Billy Presley (Gillian Anderson), who lives on the grounds of the remote abandoned sleepaway camp where the first movie was shot decades ago because, she — kind of — jokes, “Somebody’s gotta be here” when the franchise’s iconic monster, Little Death, returns.
Gillian Anderson and Hannah Einbinder in Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma.
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At first, Billy is presented as a Norma Desmond type with a Dolly Parton-esque accent (Anderson lays the lilting southern drawl on thick), but the central dynamic between faded movie star and hungry filmmaker is way less antagonistic than Sunset Boulevard. It’s also far more erotic — Kris has largely suppressed her own sexual desires for human connection despite being in a polyamorous relationship, conferring all that energy onto filmmaking and a heavy obsession with the bloody, twisted fantasy of Camp Miasma. Rewatching that first Camp Miasma movie together, Billy helps Kris lose her inhibitions and access a different side of herself; Einbinder and Anderson’s on-screen chemistry, sexual and otherwise, is blissfully alluring.
Schoenbrun, who is trans and nonbinary, is doing something remarkable with Teenage Sex and Death: They manage to draw upon decades’ worth of film theory and gender studies texts and render much of it cinematically, while largely avoiding too much didacticism or prescriptiveness. The film’s expression is sometimes messy, contradictory, and heady, but that’s a feature, not a bug, because sociological academia is often all those things too. So is the journey of sexual exploration.
In Schoenbrun’s previous film, I Saw the TV Glow, which they described as their way of talking about “not being in one’s body … living as voyeur,” Owen (Justice Smith) rejects the calling to live outside himself in exchange for “comfort” in the “norm,” only to find himself truly miserable and unmoored. Teenage Sex and Death, conceived after Schoenbrun transitioned, shows a filmmaker on the other side of that unmooring, both conceptually and visually. (The production design by Brandon Tonner-Connolly and Matt Hyland is top-tier, and includes gorgeous matte backdrops and Hitchcock movie references.) Desire — even the supposedly weird kind that finds pleasure in “powerlessness,” as Billy puts it — is natural and good.
Teenage Sex and Death ends up being a perfect tale for this moment — metatextual, chaotic, firmly progressive in the face of rapid societal regression and devaluation of intellectual rigor. (And also it must be said: a damn good time at the movies, if you don’t mind your eroticism with a side of gore.)
But then again, One Night Only feels timely, too. It’s only astounding that a movie so retrograde and stealthily propagandistic about sex could exist if you ignore, well, everything going on right now. There will always be art made to meet and challenge repression, and art made to merely reinforce it. The only rare thing this week is that the yin and yang happened to arrive at the same time.
This piece also appeared in NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour newsletter. Sign up for the newsletter so you don’t miss the next one, plus get weekly recommendations about what’s making us happy.
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Sally Field attends Netflix’s Los Angeles Premiere of “Remarkably Bright Creatures” in Hollywood at Netflix Tudum Theater on April 30, 2026 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Matt Winkelmeyer/Getty Images for Netflix)
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This week’s show was recorded in Chicago with host Peter Sagal, judge and scorekeeper Alzo Slade, Not My Job guest Sally Field and panelists Tom Bodett, Shantira Jackson, and Paula Poundstone. Click the audio link above to hear the whole show.
Who’s Alzo This Time
One Giant Crash for Mankind; Mexico meets Mexican-ish; Who’s Watching the Baby?
Panel Questions
A Murder of Best Friends
Bluff The Listener
Our panelists tell three stories about a show that just couldn’t go on, only one of which is true
Not My Job: Legendary actor Sally Field joins us to answer our questions about the world’s dumbest animals
This week, we’re joined by legendary actor Sally Field, who’s up for an Emmy for her role in Remarkably Bright Creatures. She plays our game called “Remarkably Dumb Creatures,” three questions about the dumbest animals on Earth.
Panel Questions
Righty Tighty, Lefty Also Tighty; No Encores, Please!
Limericks
Alzo Slade reads three news-related limericks: Get Your Back Out at the Outback; The Worst Part of Waking Up; The Waaaaah-dyssey
Lightning Fill In The Blank
All the news we couldn’t fit anywhere else
Predictions
Our panelists predict, after the big crash, what’s the next story that’ll get the Moon into the news?
Hannah Simone’s seven-season run as Cece Parekh in the Fox sitcom “New Girl” (2011-2018) continues to pay dividends in ways expected and unexpected. In the first category is the show’s rewatch podcast “The Mess Around” (co-hosted with former co-star Larmorne Morris), which streams new episodes every Sunday on Hulu.
In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.
In the second category is her next big-screen project, Searchlight Pictures’ “Super Troopers 3,” hitting theaters Friday. It’s the latest installment of the Vermont-set, cop-and-caper comedy franchise in which she plays the sister of state trooper Thorny (co-star, director and member of comedy troupe Broken Lizard’s writing team Jay Chandrasekhar) and love interest of Farva (fellow Broken Lizard co-star Kevin Heffernan), headed to the altar complete with Indian wedding shenanigans.
“We first met when Jay directed a couple of episodes of ‘New Girl,’” Simone explained. “And then last summer I got a text from him asking me to play his sister. I was like ‘Enough with the texting’ and I called him immediately.”
As for her perfect L.A. Sunday, it starts with a lemon, ends with puzzles and has a whole lot of family, phone calls and fusion food in between.
This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for length and clarity.
8 a.m.: Grab one of life’s lemons
The first thing I do when I wake up is go get a lemon from the little lemon tree we have and squeeze it into some room-temperature water and drink it. It’s an Ayurvedic thing and it’s supposed to be very good for your system. Then I follow that with two very strong cups of coffee.
10 a.m.: A walk-and-talk with the sister-in-law
I’ve become really close with my sister-in-law, and almost every Sunday, we meet for what we call “tea time.” No tea is consumed. We just go for a long walk and spill the tea. I love walking in L.A., and there are a lot of really quiet neighborhoods in Studio City. So we kind of just walk and wander the neighborhoods or go to a park.
Noon: Post up at Pijja Palace
I’m not a classic eggs-and-bacon brunch person. I lean more toward early lunch, and one of my favorite spots to do that is Pijja Palace. It’s an incredible sports bar [with] fusion Indian food so there are things like masala wings, chicken tikka pizza and dosa-style onion rings on the menu. And it’s a sports bar. So if it’s a Sunday and there’s an afternoon Dodgers game or a Kings game [in town], that’s where I’m going. But if not, I’m going to Pijja to eat and watch the game.
And I always call my mom when I’m driving because she lives in Scotland and I have to take into account the big time difference. It’s the most L.A. thing in the entire world that we only talk to our family members when we’re driving because the drives are so long. I’ll talk to her for about an hour on the way to Pijja.
2:30 p.m.: Put the bro in Broad
Then, since I’m over on the Eastside, I’d probably go downtown. Especially if I’m with my brother [Zach Simone] — he’s my plus-one forever — we’d go to the Broad. I love it there and could go every day. I like going to see [Yayoi Kusama’s “Infinity Mirrored Room — the Souls of Millions of Light Years Away” (2013)]. It’s always the most profound experience because you only get one minute and it’s really weird how it centers in you when you know you have a minute.
3:30 p.m.: Celebrate the Central Library’s Centennial
Then I’d walk down to [Los Angeles Public Library’s] Central Library, which is celebrating its 100th anniversary this year. Right now they have an incredible installation [on] the history of the library told in these 20-foot-high books, which is so beautiful and cool. And I will say they have probably one of the best gift shops in all of L.A. I can’t even call it a gift shop because I just buy things for myself.
4:30 p.m.: Drive and dial dad
If this was my dream Sunday, I would probably drive to the Westside and call my dad in Canada and talk to him for an hour while I drive. I can usually catch him at home watching cricket.
5:30 p.m. Kick it on Abbot Kinney
I’d wander around Abbot Kinney [Boulevard] for a while. One of the stores I like to wander into is Burro; because I’m a gift giver, and it’s a really good store for that. It’s very curated and stocked with all of the kinds of things I love.
6 p.m.: Fusion food at Badmaash
I’d probably grab an early dinner. And my favorite restaurant for that is Badmaash, and they just opened one in Venice. They just put the most amazing thing on their menu; a steak frites with masala au poivre. The peppercorn sauce is done with all Indian spices. My dad used to do fusion cooking before it was a thing. He used to make spaghetti Bolognese with cumin and coriander in it, so Western and Italian cuisine with Indian influences is comforting to me.
7 p.m.: Catch a sunset in the rearview mirror
I’d start to head back home around 7 [p.m.]-ish because that’s when the sun’s about to set. It’s the most L.A. thing in the entire world, because you have this beautiful sunset happening at the beach and you’re right there. But you don’t want to be in traffic, so you’re heading the opposite direction. I’ve probably seen thousands of the world’s most beautiful sunsets in my rearview driving down the 101 [Freeway].
8:30 p.m.: Prep, puzzles and popcorn TV
On Tuesdays, we have the Tuesday Night Supper Club, which is really just our Tuesday night version of a Friday family dinner. So, once I’m home, I’ll prep a chicken curry so it can sit in the marinade for a day.
I have a very loud addiction to puzzles — I don’t do them casually — so then I’ll open a puzzle. If it’s a 500-piece puzzle, it’ll be done before I go to bed. If it’s got 1,000 pieces, it’ll be finished the next day. I’ll work on a puzzle and watch some trash popcorn TV that I love — reality TV: “Love Island,” “Temptation Island,” “Survivor,” anything like that.
11 p.m.: Sweat some old “New Girl” episodes
I have a HigherDOSE Infrared Sauna Blanket, and at the end of the evening, I’ll use that for about an hour while I watch two episodes of “New Girl,” to prepare because we usually record “The Mess Around” [rewatch podcast] on Mondays.
12:01 a.m.: Wind down with Wordle
After I shower, I’ll go to bed, and the last thing I’ll do is play Wordle and Connections. I lost my perfect streak once because I didn’t get to it in time. So now I’m the person who has to do it at 12:01 a.m. so I won’t forget to do it.
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