The event was a dualistic creative assembly of many works from photographers
Been staying local for some time but territorial pissing can be a drag, so tonight was a dash to do something different on a whim. An invite, art and continuity of friendship aroused those taking a risk feelings again. Yes the 101 was heavy with traffic at 5:30 PM; but we could use the extra time for finding a place to park. Easing the stress with a pint before the event is always a reasonably social thing to do. So around the corner was a delightful Pub with a kind-hearted giant bouncer hanging outside the door.
Guinness will do thank you or maybe a Firestone.
We arrived there early but the rats from the press smelled the cheese first. When we came back to the event a bouncer was courteous and remembered us.
The photography was large, clean, and in your face. The general motif was a compare and contrast between boxers and musicians. The event was a dualistic creative assembly of many works from photographers. The building was rather small but was filled to the rim with a mixture of all ages; video cameras and technology galore with the usual turned up nose.
A rip current moved towards the host of this event.
I must admit after all these years it was a goal of mine to shake his hand and give him a hug. A couple of synchronicities happened recently to inspire this need; a picture of him smiling and a lonely article in the local LA Weekly rag.
The heart the host lacked must have been misplaced, even though he gets credit for being accessible.
I watched as youngsters bathed in his lecturing discourse like he was a professor of something. I gave him a hand shake and hug. He didn’t seem to understand that the images on the wall were all from 25 something years ago just like both of us. The heart the host lacked must have been misplaced because the bouncer at the pub around the corner had heart. He glowed with integrity, muse and love. Yes lost by the host of this event. Too bad because overall we had a great time. I am getting a taste in my mouth for another event like this one…soon.
All images of this event are changed to black and white for this layout only, the original images are full color. (Except for my image)
Being born and raised in the same home town had its blessings and traps. Nature was plentiful. Building tree forts, dirt fights and running wild in the wind is what the kids in my neighborhood did. When I compare this to what my kids do, it is much different. Cell phones take away the freedom we had and from the danger. Their free PlayStation fun compared to our saving dimes and quarters to play arcade games is a revolution in entertainment. I can’t say it is better or worse just different, as different as from what my parents did as kids.
Mom and Dad both living in the same house for over 60 years seems amazing to me now; especially now they are gone. My original long-term personal home base is gone. For me it was not so much the place as knowing that they would be there. Mom cooking and Dad bellyaching about some silly thing. Playing poker at night after dinner or maybe a game of Hearts made it home. Mom always secretly helping Dad out with the games. He acting like he didn’t know anything but like a shark that he was would Shoot The Moon. I like to think that I am rekindling and bringing in this magic and epigenesis of youth to my youngsters. Telling scary stories while walking around the block at night, and letting my oldest invite his friends over to the house, might do this. Once they were little. We had lots of room now the house is small and we have less room for the same five or six young adults.
At this time in my life I am letting go of the place that was my root-structure know as my parents. I have no say in the matter. Home is readjusting its meaning to me. First I have kids and I am their home, but I also think of years as homes of adventure. The different events during different ten-year time frames. I can differentiate the different auxiliary-home-structures beginning with the 60s, then onto the 70s, 80s, 90s, until right this moment. I think we all have many homes where we put our roots down. Different places and people make us want to keep coming back for more. I think home is where the heart is. It may be found in a foundational place but it also can be more about the people or the person. When they pass on they are remembered in the home of our hearts.
Flip-flopping between the left and right side of the brain is a life challenge for most people, including me. I tend to settle in-between; between the paradoxical place of possibilities and black boards. Clearly the world is made up of minds that are flip-flopping all the time as well. This may be between analytical mathematics, the economy and buildings with art, music and rebellion. One can be reflective or critiquing or one can be repulsive or loving. Everywhere we look one can see the cause and effect of how we think in the environment of our life. Observing nature is a good middle ground because it blends both sides of the brain in an amazing way, helping to inspire our imagination as it did Newton while sitting under an apple tree. An apple fell on his head and so we know about gravity.
“Be it as in the story about Sir Isaac Newton discovering gravity when an apple fell on his head as he was sitting under an apple tree might be an invention. It states that decades after Newton’s death in 1727, the French philosopher Voltaire put it in a book, claiming that Newton’s niece, Catherine Conduit, believed it to be true. ”
Find an easy blissful place and rest your mind and nature has a way of revealing things to those who take the time to listen. Yet, we tend to take the route of constant noise amplified by some sort of hand-held device which goes straight in our brains. Let’s stop it and take a flip-flopping break. How can we spend more time in the intuitive part of our brain? Look to the artists, mystics, writers and punk rockers and you may find the answer. I hope that this does not seem as if I have a preference between the two parts of the brain: because the only time they are not wrestling in my mind is when I am sitting at the blackboard, or while listening to some music, or while listening to the birds sing. A simple singular action can bring one to balance.
If you are into the early evolution of punk rock you have to view these images taken by Jenny Lens. The feeling from her pictures jump out at you and it is all about those crazy wild punks. This is the root system of the LA punk rock scene and it’s amazing history. Jenny Len’s images yell out loudly about the history of punk rock and the continuity of a music scene in general. The women of punk rock may have to fight a lot harder to push their way in and Jenny’s photography needs to be proudly displayed in the “herstory” of musical museums as well.
The vine with purple flowers makes its way to our chimney every summer. By the cold of winter it declines and we pull it back. One year we let our home insurance lapse. The insurance agent came out and told us that we had to trim the bush back so it did not even touch our home. It was a fire hazard and we could not be insured. In California we do not have that many fires in the fire-place. As long as we do not let the insurance lapse the insurance agent will never know. The relationship between the red man-made brick and the lovely nature made vine well keep their date of summer merging.