Desert Living

Enjoying quality time with a dear friend in PS.  Lots and lots of laughing, chilling and thoughtful conversation.  Thrifting, cooking, reading, yoga, hiking, sleeping, hooping, sipping wine, snapping photos . . . a perfect weekend.

AMUSE

I just want to shoot, but I'm slightly bored by the subjects lingering around my house and neighborhood. I'm itching for an excursion with my camera, an afternoon on the streets of Hollywood, or a longer road trip to an unexplored destination.  Then it dawned on me, the subject I've shot the most, consistently ever day for a year, has been absent from my lens.  I dusted off my tripod and dragged it down my terraced hill for a mini shoot in the fading afternoon light.  The unplanned results look like a still from a horror movie.  Yes, some times I scare myself, but mostly I amuse.

Golden

Today I woke up and told myself

just

And you'll maintain that

 

When It Is Over

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world. ― Mary Oliver

Scene

The food scene in LA is thriving.  In the past two weeks I've had scrumptious meals at Ink., The Lazy Ox Canteen and Ray's + Stark Bar.  The octopus and ink pasta at Ink. was particularly memorable, as was the conversation.

Save the Date

Imagination

Sipping thimbles of jammy red wine we engaged in lively chatter about the imaginary worlds and personas we inhabited as children, the make believe constructs that let us move through walls, class and time.  Revealing, hilarious and insightful about who we were, and who we would become.  At a young age, does our stored memory, accounting for  little room in our brain, leave space for oodles of exploration and creativity?  Conversely, as we age and acquire anecdotal souvenirs is it easier for the brain to trip into the past, rather than the imaginative future?  I've experienced the world beyond the curbs of my suburban yard, I've drunk champagne in high heals and fitted gowns, I've visited foreign lands. I want my imagination to be as vivid and lofty as when I was seven, and yet, be it nostalgia, appreciation or perspective I spend a lot of time reliving moments from the past.  Thankfully, I'm not quite Margaret Thatcher as portrayed in IRON LADY, but I grasp, perhaps too clearly, how the scales of the mind can tip.

Blue

There's a place in my heart that is tender, a place in my heart where Monkey lives.  The house is alarmingly quiet without his purring.  The last few days he's been out of sorts, lethargic, so even thought I know how much he hates being in a car, I bundled him on my lap this morning and drove him to the vet. They called me in to an exam room, alarmed by his critical heart condition.  I tried to convince them that was due to panting during the twelve minute car ride, not the reason I brought him in.  X-rays revealed a mass in his spleen and an enlarged heart.  I signed paperwork for a potential three night stay, tests, an ultra sound and possible surgery.  I handed over my credit card for what could have been an extravagant shopping spree.  Of course, I'd spend a lot more than I forked over if it'll make Monkey feel better and bring him home.

Suzanne Rae

I heart everything about Suzanne Rae's fashion designs and philosophy.  Her ready to wear collection is described as "both feminist and feminine, the line explores the multiple juxtapositions of a woman’s being and interprets these abstract ideas into tangible garments."  A celebration of the female spirit and form.



RISE - Suzanne Rae SS 2012 from Alexandra Roxo on Vimeo.

Window

 

 for how many years have you gone through the house shutting the windows,

while the rain was still five miles away and veering,

o plum-colored clouds,

to the north away from you

and you did not even know enough to be sorry,

you were glad those silver sheets, with the occasional golden staple, were sweeping on, elsewhere, violent and electric and uncontrollable

and will you find yourself finally wanting to forget all enclosures,

including the enclosure of yourself,

o lonely leaf,

and will you dash finally, frantically, to the windows and haul them open

and lean out to the dark, silvered sky,

to everything that is beyond capture, shouting im here, im here!

now, now, now, now, now.

Mary Oliver

Steve Jobs

 

The last few months I've taken to listening to audio books while driving to the lot, the desert, random meetings and errands.  It seemed only right to download the Steve Jobs Biography on itunes and listen to it on my iphone while driving past life side bus station ads for ipads.  I'm thrilled to be living in the information age, and appreciate the benefits of consumer technology, a vision Steve Jobs had decades ago.  An interesting, complicated, and brilliant man for whom I'm grateful, but whose social behavior and management style was cringe worthy.  He seemed to be missing a fundamental capacity for compassion, yet he knew how to turn on the charm, or tears to get what he wanted.  I share and appreciate his aesthetic for modern design, clean food, and telling it like it is.  I have certainly benefited from his life, and for that I am thankful. 

Golden

In honor of Brad and Angelina presenting together at tonight's Golden Globes I revisited the W Magazine spread featuring the golden co-stars, not-yet official couple, from June 2005.  Provocative photos by Steven Klein.  Golden desert setting by Palm Springs.

Window

window: an interval or opportunity for action

Saturday

After weeks of summer temps, a winter chill infused Los Angeles.  Started the morning off with a hike on a neighborhood trail I used to frequent with an ex-boyfriend during my first few years in Los Angeles.  Familiar well-tread terrain, yet everything looked different.  Post hike, I stocked up on vegetables and fruit at the Silver Lake farmers market before meeting a friend at the annual Photo LA exhibit in Santa Monica.  Overall, a disappointing array of art.  Perhaps I've been spoiled by the imaginative, inspiring offerings on blogs and websites.  One or two artists caught my eye, but I wasn't even tempted to make a purchase.

Afternoon Shadows

The patterns on my shade shift through out the day, a scrim between my bed and patio,

an endless photo op.

Breaking Bad

I've fallen into a vortex.  I knew it was going to happen, delayed it for as long as possible, but once I opened Netflix and clicked on Breaking Bad, I was a goner.  I saw the pilot when it was first shot, but for some reason didn't follow the series when it premiered.  Always cited among writers as one of the best series, ever,  I had been hoping for inclement weather, or the flu as an excuse to hibernate and watch episode after episode.  Neither has happened, it was just time.  The series definitely lives up to the hype.  The lead characters go on a transformative journey unlike any I've seen on television.  A fascinating study in morality, psychology, and criminology.  Absolutely riveting and executed with perfection.  Additional proof we're living in the finest age of television. 

Alone Again, Naturally

One of the first blogs I read religiously was Dominque Browning's Slow Love Life.  I bookmarked it after I was captivated by her book of the same name.  I immediately related to her jobless plight, her emotional and physical wanderings, and the joy she derived from the small moments in life.  After reading her essay in the New York Times, Alone Again, Naturally I was struck by how significantly I relate to another aspect of her life: her single status.  Dominique knows the benefits of being single, and why I'm not so apt to change my status any time soon.  And yet . . .

if we were lucky enough to fall madly in love with someone again, we would gladly trade in our single ways and hitch up.  But the key word is “madly. . . 

 So true.  Her reflection was induced by a spill she took outside of her house, alone.  During the seconds she was immobile, she had the following ephiphany:

A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle. Now I understand why a man needs marriage like a fish needs water.

Morning Light Patterns

The rising sun is my alarm clock.  On most mornings, the brightening sky wakes me from my slumber, and sometimes, after taking in the view I just roll over and return to my dreams.  Before I feel back to sleep this morning, I delighted in these patterns frolicking on my window shade. 

An Le

Stumbled upon this amazing talent, these arresting images.  An Le is only 22, left Vietnam for the US at 15 to pursue art.  Currently a student and intern at ART + COMMERCE, he is interested in both fine art and fashion photography.   He is compelled to tell a story with his images which is undoubtedly why I was immediately drawn to his work.

I look at art like a visual puzzle that the viewers have to decipher with their own personal and emotional language combined with the language that the artist uses to communicate.  I love film, psychology and literature. My images almost always have a sense of narrative. I like to tell a story.  My work usually always has a sense of contradiction, sometimes it is beautiful, sometimes it is disturbing, and sometimes it is both.

This Moment

Max Zorn - Packing Tape Portraits

Yep, Max Zorn creates dimensional back lit portraits using sticky, frequently frustrating packing tape.  Ingenious, creative, inspiring.  I love it when the drive to generate art knows no bounds.

Roses

Beautiful fading roses, a New Year's Eve gift turned impromptu centerpiece for a celebration that was mere days ago.  Everyone is back at work, spinning lack of news into information about pilot pickups.  This holding pattern will persist for several weeks.  I'm enjoying the anticipation, the willingness to walk down the fated path while focusing on those things still in our control.  Some days I'm overwhelmed with optimism and joy and wonder if I will be able to maintain this state regardless of the outcome.  Lessons at every turn

Moving On

I love the holidays, they're like one big theme party that the whole world is in on.  I applaud the neighbors who, the day after Thanksgiving, fasten twinkling lights to the eaves of their roofs.  I admit to programming the easy listening station with the continuous loop of Christmas music for thirty days.  I even enjoy the challenge of keeping the-get-it-all-done anxiety at bay, while enjoying the heightened seasonal energy.  Most importantly, I indulge in reflection induced by another year coming to an end.  But when it's over, it's over.  I can't bear another crooner dreaming of a white Christmas, or a cookie with  green and red icing.  Come January 2nd, I'm ready to move on, kiss the holiday goodbye and park the dry pine tree at the curb.  I like a clean page, I crave a return to normalcy.  Time is a man-made construct, endings and beginnings the result of a desire to bundle moments together in tidy units.  The holidays suspend time, but when they're over I'm ready to get off the sideline and jump back in to every day life.

Beginnings

Rang in the new year with people I love, drinking champagne, eating pizza, laughing, and dancing into the wee hours of the night.  Thankfully got to bed an hour or so before the sun rose on a new year.  So glad I decided, last minute, to host a party, and bring together those nearest and dearest to celebrate life.  The festivities continued today at Sticks', a bustling open house, more friends, growing children, and delightful chatter.  Sat in a circle around the fire pit, made flying wishes and voiced our gratitude.  Fell asleep on the couch trying to get through another mediocre screener.  2010 was many wonderful things, but it was not a remarkable year at the movies.