so random

Monday was their move-out day, still working hard to get out of there at 10pm, when we stumbled in a bit tipsy from celebration, with our friends who wanted to see our new home. 

I took my framed art work from my two spring shows over yesterday killing two birds with one stone, as I met the termite fumigators to tent our new home. I cracked up reading their warning labels, learning that their fumigation facilities are located on Meat Avenue. 

M reminded me that when we finally walked into the last two places we bought, that there was a bit of let down, a tiny worry and slight remorse that the home wasn't quite as lovely as we remembered.

Walking the rooms of our new home, I had to pinch myself. Now that the previous owner's twee belongings are gone, I see that the kitchen granite isn't so flashy and shiny, and the lucite counter stools I selected will pull the contemporary, (and dare I say slightly cheesy), hood above the stove together nicely. 

The big pink oil painting that has lived for the past two years in the half bath will look great at the bottom of the stairs, and I think my framed swimming pool photo will compliment the art work and kitchen quite nicely.

We have overnight guests on the 11th, a perfect push for me to stay on task with unpacking and organizing. I don't want to find myself with hours passing, chasing light around the house, or going to the gardening shop because I need to plant gardenias and a Meyer lemon tree before the season becomes too late. 

I stood on the tiny terrace off our bedroom, (!!), and spied into my neighbor's fairy garden; climbing vines and trumpeted blossoms, a fruit-heavy citrus tree, tempting me with its fragrant blossoms. 

I read a poem yesterday, and promptly ordered the book where I could find the poem, reminding myself that despite my need to pass off a good portion of my poetry collection, I'm not a complete ignoramus when it comes to verse. 


I'm looking forward to dinner tonight with a friend, exploring a new (old) portion of Los Angeles and trying to break free of a gripping creative slump insidiously wrapped around my camera straps. 

list no. 26 :: 5 things i'll miss and 5 things i won't

On our last weekend here in this town home, I've decided a list would be appropriate.


5 things I will miss...

1. The sound of waves crashing while sitting on the couch with a cup of tea and my laptop.
2. The briny smell of the sea in our windows when the wind is blowing just so.
3. The roof deck and its unobstructed view of the beach and pier; up to Palos Verdes one way and Malibu the other.
4. Our close proximity to town. Literally, two blocks in either direction equals the beach, Starcrack, groceries, the bank, the drugstore, shops and restaurants galore, the post office, the public library and miss A's school. 
5. The little tree in my neighbor's yard that is the posting spot of our neighborhood hummingbirds. It has been such a delight to see and watch such sweet little beings, I hope that we have many visitations in our new home. (And I plan to get a feeder.)

And 5 things I won't...

1. Our close proximity to town. It's like MTV spring break during the summer. (I wish I was exaggerating.)
2. Backing out of the narrowest driveway known to man.
3. Extremely nice neighbors that drive ridiculously large trucks, (come on, we live in a city!), and park in their driveway next to the narrowest driveway known to man. Which translates to a tunnel of obstruction, completely obliterating any chance of seeing the busy street we've lived on. 
4. Connected living. Our townhouse is one of three in line; a plot of land originally designated as a single family dwelling, that has been developed within inches of its life. Yes there are amazing decks and views, but the three foot wide moat-like walkway that surrounds the perimeter is depressing and is probably there because of some necessary building code.
5. Carpeted floors. 

one way to procrastinate

With eight days to go until we move and miss thing out of school for the summer, I find myself behind on the schedule I'd set in my packing mind. 

We're also out of boxes, something M has declared he'll take care of. But it's Thursday and we're still box-less, save the few I scavenged from yesterday's recycling pick-up in the neighborhood. 

We  like the idea of spending part of the afternoon at the beach. Yesterday A had a friend and I had my book, and we enjoyed two relaxing hours basking in the warm sun; my feet buried in the sand, rubbing away the sheen on my Dutch Tulip toe varnish.

This morning offered us the perfect beginning to a slower pace found in a new friend's enthusiastic desire to set up a weekly exercise date. The offer of child care in her older daughter, Miss A played with her friend the younger daughter, (their friendship is how I met the mom), and we had a good power walk. We've decided upon Thursday as our day, and the plan to also include cycling thrills me. My neglected mountain bike with her deflated tires would love a regular gig, and it will bring me closer to my goal of riding my bike from here to Venice Beach and back. 

I like the pace of summer vacation and will like it even more, once these cardboard boxes are stacked in our new home.  

circling

I'm a big believer in following your heart and dreams, in pushing aside your fears and the shit talking that keeps us small.  I think that life is too short to let fear be a motivator. And this coming from someone who dances with the insidious shape-shifter that is fear, the girl that has allowed fear to be my gate-keeper.

I believe that putting oneself out there in this way when you've finally reached the  stage of taking that leap can be a bit of a slippery slope of expectations; even when you're very certain of yours, believing there's an understanding of what's expected. 

Here's the truth: expectations can fuck you up. Even if you're really clear about what you want, (like I've believed myself to be on more than one occasion, ahem), things come up that weren't visualized, charted or even imagined. 

The old adage, 'be careful what you wish for', is one I think about a lot. Not in a negative connotation, but curiously. Many layers and elements become reality when dreams begin to come true. There have been times I've thought after the fact, maybe this would have been this if I'd known that, you know what I mean?

I've become much better about not attaching so much of myself, (read: my heart, my soul, and especially, my ego), to my work. That's not to say that I'm not disappointed when I don't get selected for a gallery show, or that I don't send myself down a pity party path when I'm in a creative slump. I'm right there, the first one to start lurking around online, finding exactly what I need to make myself feel like crap. Thankfully, those instances are less frequent and when I do find myself sliding down the path of 'woe is me', the disappointment doesn't linger for days on end.


A creative life is deeply personal, it just is. My work is going to speak to you or it isn't, and just like the next person, it's all fair game. Like any creative endeavor, subjectivity is at its core. We all know what we like and don't like, it's a fact. Curators are trained to be less subjective, but creatives have a vision and as such, there is no way around it. 

I draw comfort from this in an odd way, knowing that there are trends in everything and I've never been trendy, despite my desire to be such. 

And so it goes. 

strong like bull, stubborn like ox

Packing is like Groundhog Day. Every day it's more of the same and I can barely stand it, and I know the worst is yet to come. 

I wanted to be further along, but I find myself with an even shorter attention span; mesmerized by the lyric of the hummingbirds who come to visit outside. I hear the crashing surf and laughter in the late afternoon when the wind is blowing a certain way, and thirty minutes has passed. 

This introspection is necessary and welcome, but the timing could be a little better. I have so much to accomplish in such a small amount of time. And let's face it: the mister is good at packing his music and tasks that are set before him. But beyond that, the whole 3rd person in this household who is a hoarder and complains when asked to go through her belongings? Yeah, I'll be packing all of her crap and lest I think that I can start pitching things while she's at school, her elephant-like memory is annoying when it comes to the piles of 'important papers' and bullshit wrappers from some birthday party that was "so much fun." 

We're on the brink; so close to having our lives settle down a bit that I feel anxious. I want to be done with the packing and already there. I don't want to think about how the Farmer's Market is on Friday and what about the moving truck? Or, the new house is on a tiny cul-de-sac and how will the truck get down the street? As if any of that is my concern, but it keeps me up at night.

We found counter stools that I'm in love with, and miraculously, a dining table and chairs. Our current table and chairs will be gone next week; we need the room for boxes and I need to see that thing out of here. 

I'm bored out of my head in all honesty. This no working, is not working and I'm thinking about grad school and Spanish classes and I want to learn how to surf, but I'm not the best swimmer and I'm scared of sharks.

I've been obsessed with rattlesnakes lately, and I find crow feathers everywhere, but I let them lay. Somehow the thick spine of the feather, (is that even what it's called?), grosses me out. That thickness sticking into the bird...yuck. 

I'm drinking way too much coffee and there have been a couple, epic sugar binges. It's a serious trigger for me and it wreaks havoc on my body. I've known this for awhile now, but when a friend first suggested I think about my sugar intake, I wasn't ready to listen. 

And so it goes. Small steps, with the occasional set-back. I'm trying to remember that all of this is a lifestyle change, not a quick fix.

excavate

Last year Liz's book arrived on the shelves, a book I had the opportunity to be a part of.  This year, Liz is working through her book and she'd love for you to join her. Below, is my contribution.

***********

Photo walking in Los Angeles is very different than New York. When I'd go to Manhattan, my only plan was deciding what subway station stop to emerge from, the corridors of Manhattan a box full of jewels waiting for me. 


Los Angeles proper, is not a large place. When one hears of Los Angeles, it's really L.A. county that's being talked about. A vast, sprawling metropolis made up of little cities and towns spreading over 4,752 square miles. 


I'm incredibly fortunate to live in a little city by the sea with a surplus of elements to shoot. And while I love the beach and everything that goes with it, (especially when I'm out with my arsenal of cameras), I possess an urban heart.


My photo walks here on the west coast are all about the destination, we are a driving culture after all. I look to the streets and neighborhoods in the 90001 for inspiration when I'm planning a day of shooting. 


What do I want to see? What am I hoping to capture? 

 

list no. 24 :: true confessions

1. I've thought that I'm depressed, but I think it's grief masquerading as depression. 
2. Meaning, I feel happy and I'm excited and enthusiastic about life and all that we have going on, but I'm fucking sad. 
3. My happiness has a continual gray cloud, very much like this old school cartoon when I was a kid. It was a Yogi Bear cartoon, (here I date myself), that was based on ecology and the earth. Do you remember it? Anyway, there was this one episode when there was a smog villian casting his grayness over all of the park and Yogi and Boo-Boo were on a mission to stop him.
4. That's what my gray cloud feels like.
5. I think because I've had a bit of a reprieve, (the cloud wasn't as heavy), I'm able to look at my feelings objectively.
6. That's not to say that this cloud doesn't beat me down, or make it seem like I'm moving through an impossibly strong invisible web.
7. I've been pretty good at pretending that I'm doing alright and that's because it is what it is. 
8. It's a choice to sink or swim. 
9. It's amazing what grief will do for you. 
10. Layers peeled back to raw, there's no where to hide from any of it and the process is deeply personal.
11. How I grieve isn't how you grieve, nor will you need the things that I need.
12. Learning that has been invaluable. 
13. It's almost two years to the day that we landed here in Los Angeles and it has been 104 weeks of transition. 
14. In medias res. In the middle of things. 
15. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, I feel scared a lot, but I trust that I will figure it out. 
16. I still have a lot of shit to sift through. 
17. Big stuff and little stuff. 
18. I'm quite skilled at avoiding the big stuff: what the hell do I want to do with myself?
19. Instead working over the small stuff that isn't worth all the time I've devoted to it. 
20. I've tried to talk a good game, but here's the truth: I haven't gotten over it.
21. I'm trying, but my co-dependent self likes to replay those moments last year when I felt most abandoned, (and misunderstood), and those moments replay again and again. 
22. Time has softened the blow, but it's there.
23. Some habits are hard to break.
24. And some aren't even worth the trouble.

something outta nothing

Do you do this, trash your film shots or Polaroids, hit delete on your DSLR, banishing the image before you because you believe it to be  a 'dud'?

Yeah, me too. 

Cleaning off my desk, I spied a stack of so-called duds and immediately culled a small pile, grateful that the destiny of these photos had been re-routed into the disarray. 

Ever the critic and perfectionist, I am quick to judge my work and have had to learn to quell my impulse to throw photos into the nearest trash bin or hit delete on my DSLR.

Those moments when my Polaroids aren't what I was hoping for, when the images on my Nikon seem out of focus or composition, I step away from my inner critic and take a breath and a beat. I rarely view my digital photos because experience says that at least one shot in my camera will be the one. And I've stopped looking at my Polaroids until I get home; otherwise I will end up re-shooting and ultimately wasting film because the first shot is always the best, even if it isn't a great shot, or one that I end up using. 

The image above, shot in the early morning at Coachella, was one of those duds and yet, it caught my eye this morning. It immediately transported me back to walking around the polo fields on the second day. All the party kids were sleeping and the sun was glistening off the tents and ferris wheel in the distance. This little coffee stand in the field, served up the most delicious, hot java when I needed it most, was my festival savior.

Even though it's not a great composition, this photo is one that I love because of the evocative memories it preserved.

the storm within

There's a fine line between grief and depression, or maybe there's no line at all. Intertwined and tethered, a murky struggle that is relentless and then it isn't. 

And that quiet is welcome, until the next wave, that masks the grief, silencing the depression. 

list no. 23 :: catching my eye

1. Cherries
2. Pluots (plum + apricot)
3. Scala sun hats, (i wear mine with the brim flipped down)
4. Lucite chairs
5. Sand colored paint, I usually go with Benjamin Moore
6. Bright colored, straight-legged, plain front khakis, in the softest cotton