with a tip of the hat to maira kalman and rick meyerowitz.
Archive for the 'landscapes' Category
it’s possible that i’m lying.
we all do. everyday we embellish and expand, omit and conveniently forget the truth.
even these photographs are lies for they tell not the actual truth of the moments in which they were captured (time being the first fact to evaporate into the ether of “it doesn’t matter”).
they’ve been manipulated and saturated, the contrast has been swung to the right while the brightness has been toned down/up, but they come close to the way i saw them for the briefest moment yesterday morning sometime after 6 and before 6:30 while taking the dogs for their morning walk (the dogs on a morning walk is true.)
Like this:
10
May
12
eucalyptus, interrupt us
there are times when we must let the tree speak for itself.
Like this:
09
May
12
does this road make me look fat?
<beginning of rant>
where is everyone? you’d think in the middle of the afternoon of an absolutely exquisite day there would be people out walking with a pet, or not, but out. isn’t that why we choose to live here, because the weather is so fucking perfect? (yes, i said ‘fucking’, cover your ears if it offends you.) this is also not unlike my incomprehension of why people here drive with their windows all rolled up, their car sealed like a coffin, even when it’s as glorious a day as this one. is it their hair they’re afraid of messing up with the fresh air blowing through, the smell of the ocean, the lushness of the greensward’s grassy scent the final note? what could be more wonderful than that? <end of rant>
Like this:
we have an atrium fence outside one of the bathrooms and a few years ago we added wood finials to the corner posts and topped those off with glass door pulls. nice and sparkly, right?
in the intervening years, they’ve come off (the weather, dry or wet, is the culprit) and the crows have made off with them.
except for this one. it’s been sitting on the railing just about at my eye level for a couple of years now, every-once-in-a-while i’ll give it a nudge when i’m watering the ferns (staghorn, leather, and a nameless one) that reside inside the atrium. it entertains me with its light and shape and color (-fulness, -lessness, either or), at least when i think about it which i did on saturday when i photographed it and today as i share it with you.
Like this:
06
May
12
the exquisite sameness
it is always a safe subject.
it rarely stirs up passionate debate unless, of course, you’re a meteorologist.
the tv weathermen/women (those of the tight pencil skirts and plunging necklines, if the weather’s not interesting at least it can be provocative, no?) try so hard to make it something it’s not: exciting.
but there is an exquisite beauty to its sameness nonetheless, what with the occasional cloud floating by, the subtle changes of color of the sky/sea/surf/sand/mountains/faux tuscan architecture, all pink stucco and red tile roofs, iron gates and eucalyptus trees as the morning passes its mid-point and the afternoon sun warms your back, the shadows lengthen and gather, their dark, harsh edges fading with the sunset.
Like this:
05
May
12
jacaranda (a manifesto)
their fragrance may be the second thing you notice.
to have that experience you must exit your vehicle.
and stand in the middle of an abandoned street–this one courtesy the shuttered tustin air base (forget, please, for the moment, that there’s one of those ubiquitous orange county black mercedes benz’s parked a block or so away–without a driver or a sign of human life near it or even away from it.)
which is not unusual for orange county, the 6th most populous county in the u.s., but where, if you travel in my circles, you’ll rarely see another human being.
p.s. that’s a zeppelin hangar in the background; it’s scale is impossible to convey in a photo–god knows i’ve tried in the past, but no matter from what angle i photograph it, it always looks small. trust me, it’s HUGE, GARGANTUAN–which reminds me, did you ever read rabelais? i have, en français sans doute and ever since i’ve tended a love for all things pantagruel et gargantua, mes grands géants, but that may just be me.
how can that be, you may ask yourself? so many people, so rarely seen. the easy answer: they rarely get out of their cars, or pull over somewhere, possibly trespassing as i was the day i took these photographs (yesterday, to be exact), eschewing nature, quiet, contemplation, and solitude for god-knows-what, but i suspect it’s fear that keeps them from more solitary pursuits–such as being alone with their thoughts.
may is the purple month in southern california. first we have the jacarandas (jacaranda cuspidfolia, possibly, for those readers–and you know who you are–that enjoy their latin genus and species nomenclature), and followed by the agapantha.
today, though, i’m all about the jacaranda and cloudy days and solitude and abandoned air fields, blimp hangars, and a block of townhomes framed by gnarled branches and purple blossoms of 80 year-old flowering trees whose scent startled me with its sweetness and strength (two qualities we would be well-advised to utilize in our lives, yes?)
will sharon needles win ru-paul’s drag race? had hoped latrice royale might go farther than she did. what a hard life these queens live/lived. it ain’t easy.
i could use a pedicure. what i really could use is the pampering that goes with a pedicure; i’m quite capable of maintaining my own toenails. haven’t gotten to the point where it’s difficult to reach them yet.
i hope those sweet pea-pods i bought at last week’s farmer’s market are still good.
what was that noise?
must dead head tomorrow.
a cold, frosty one right now sure would taste good.
dancin’ in the streets, philadelphia, l.a., baltimore, d.c., don’t forget the motor city, all we need is music, sweet, sweet music, there’ll be music everywhere. dancin’ in the street/there’ll be singing, swaying, records playing, a chance for folks to meet. it doesn’t matter what you wear/long as you are there, so come on guys, grab a girl, everywhere around the world, there’ll dancin’/dancin’ in the street…
Like this:
27
Apr
12
iris 5 (with rose bud)
the last one, i promise.
who killed edwin drood? was it rose bud? the only thing dickens did that pissed me off was dying in the middle of writing “the mystery of edwin drood.”
i am thankful, though, to rupert holmes for recognizing a theatrical moment and doing something about it.
p.s. many thanks to ms. silver for the opportunity to see her students have so much fun performing this delightful musical.
the weather report
it seems that at some point in the past i smiled at your nonsense.
