We moved back to LA on the first of October, a little over a week ago. The last few remaining boxes haunt me but essentially the dust (if not the pug fur) has settled and we are now officially HOME. The past few years have made me very appreciative of this city which I have missed terribly. Although our plans went awry a bit I believe the move back to LA to be Fortuna’s doing .
So much of our new home is the antithesis of the doom and gloom we have endured in San Diego, most especially the sense of optimism. LA by nature is inherently optimistic and our new landlady is the very spirit of YES. I’m promising myself to no longer dwell upon my mother-in-law and her curmudgeonly temperament but suffice to say Marsha (the landlady) possesses a spirit that is loving and encouraging , she couldn’t be further from what I have become accustomed to. Our home is sweet little 1920’s “Spanish” duplex, Marsha lives above and we rent the ground floor. It is a bright and happy place and by LA standards relatively large.
Studio space, formerly the living room .We have converted the larger of the bedrooms into a sitting room.
Dining room /drafting room/ art library (part of it anyway)
As it is an “old” building, at least by Southern Californian standards, the ceilings are high and gracious , plus plenty of cross breezes from the many happy casement windows.
One of the great joys of living in our new neighborhood ( a surprisingly intact collection of charming 1920’s fantasy architecture-mock spanish,mock-Norman,mock-Beverly hills, faux Tudor…) is the ease with which I can walk to LACMA. The other evening I went to a film festival devoted to the great Mexican film-maker Gabriel Figueroa. I confess I was unfamiliar with this great artist but I was blown away by the breadth of his work (the museum has an accompanying exhibition to the film festival) and I was particularly moved by the film presented, Marīa Candelaria. A film as baroque as my own taste, more and more I believe my soul is Mexican , I am so moved by the work south of me. This film was a fictional account of an artist, a thinly veiled depiction of Diego Rivera and his infatuation with an indigenous flower vending beauty. The consequence is tragic and gorgeous.
In addition to the film, I renewed our membership and re-visited some old friends, in this case , Mixtec treasures. The great god Tlaloc was the first friendly face I encountered.
I was indeed home.
With only a few boxes left to unpack, the computer up and running and the dogs settled in comfortably, we are at peace. The only thing now is to tackle the new monstrously large canvas looming in the studio. We leave for Mexico City and Teotihuacan at the end of the month, I anticipate further inspiration.
Until next time, be well,