DAY 29

Day 28

Icons of Style at The Getty

Day 27

Day 26

Day 25

Day 24

Day 23

Day 22

Day 21

Day 20

Summer Solstice.

Air is heavy yet cool as the early evening marine layer rolls in.

En route to yoga, traveling slowly on Sunset Boulevard

I snap the lens cap off my camera.

This photography project is still an obligation.

The flip hasn't switched yet to creative bliss

and every day I drag my ass to the finish line.

The first day of summer is not bucking the trend.

One of these days, I tell myself, I will feel differently.

Inspiration will find me.

Until then I hit the shutter to complete the project.

Sitting in traffic I looked up and this image shouted at me.

"Shoot me"

I barely had a second to focus and snapped three images.

One was semi-blocked by the rear view mirror,

another had crappy composition

and then there was this one,

a happy accident. 

Patrick Melrose

"Suffering is what takes place while other people are eating"

Day 18

DAY 17

Day 16

Day 15

A blue sky smudged with heavy clouds

always gives me a sense of foreboding 

as if the heavens are telling me 

"pay attention, something is about to happen."

82 Portraits and 1 Still Life

LOVED the current Hockney exhibition at LACMA showcases portraits, each one painted in a  limited time-frame of three days – what Hockney calls a “20 hour exposure” – on identically sized canvases.

The subjects all sit in the same pale yellow chair, positioned on a turquoise floor with a blue background, or a blue floor with a turquoise background.

"Most people die of boredom, Hockney says, but “I’m not bored yet. I’m still curious. I’m still excited by pictures. I say that when I’m in the studio, I feel like I’m 30. But when I leave it, I know I’m 80. So, naturally, I stay in here. Wouldn’t you rather be 30?”

Hockney

Day 14

I stroll the streets of Venice before my dinner at Swan's. 

Surfers with skin salted by the sea devour plates of steaming food from the local taco truck.

There's a casual beauty that is so quintessential Southern California

I feel like an interloper in the city I call home.

I feel like a foreigner amongst the blonde streaks and buff midriffs. 

I breathe it in and hold it deep in my belly 

as if I'm experiencing it for the first time.

Day 13

Will I ever tire of this view?

Will the changing sky ever cease to make me pause?

Day 9

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready

to break my heart

as the sun rises, 

as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers

and they open —

pools of lace, 

white and pink —

and all day the black ants climb over them,

boring their deep and mysterious holes

into the curls, 

craving the sweet sap, 

taking it away

to their dark, underground cities —

and all day

under the shifty wind, 

as in a dance to the great wedding,

the flowers bend their bright bodies, 

and tip their fragrance to the air, 

and rise, 

their red stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness 

gladly and lightly, 

and there it is again — 

beauty the brave, the exemplary,

blazing open. 

Do you love this world? 

Do you cherish your humble and silky life? 

Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden, 

and softly, 

and exclaiming of their dearness, 

fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling, 

their eagerness

to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are

nothing, forever?

Mary Oliver

Mh Zh

For months I've seen Silverlake hipsters line up on the corner of Sunset and Maltman

outside of a no name restaurant no larger than a birds nest.  

On the sidewalk, a green oil drum serves as a makeshift hostess station.

Menus, written in black sharpie on paper bags, are piled under a porous rock.

The sidewalk is lined with tables to supplement the ten seats inside the space.

After an early viewing of short films at a festival in Hollywood,

 we took a chance,

not knowing if the wait would be endurable.

We were in luck. 

Within 15 minutes we were perched on utilitarian stools

with front row seats to the open kitchen.

Rib eyes and lamb chops sizzled over an open flame.

Swiss chard melted on the stove as trays of steaming russet potatoes were pulled from the oven.

A bouquet of flowering cilantro garnished a side of braised cabbage

so rich it looked liked tender beef. 

The restaurant, helmed by Conor Shemtov a 26 year old Israeli chef, lives up to the hype.

Our Branzino was expertly flavored with lemon, thyme and capers.

The flakes of white fish were tender and buttery.

The potatoes, crisp, meaty skins, were last meal worthy.

Roasted baby beets with hazelnuts and to-die for bread rounded out the meal.

An absolutely perfect night.

Satiated by an adventurous dining experience

where a chef's love for cooking was extremely evident.

I felt both transported and grounded in the moment.

Anthony Bourdain has not been out of my thoughts since I heard about his suicide on Friday.

He would have been enraptured by the big meal turned out by this tiny kitchen.

Mh Zh.

Definitely going back.

Day 8

The farms of California grace our local farmers markets

with a bounty of early summer produce.

I long for endless days of no commitments.

Days I can shop, cook and entertain.  

I'm craving all sorts of vacations from work.

Days in the kitchen baking bread and fruit tarts.

Days devoted to self-indulgent care.

Lazy days with a book and guilt free nap time.

Days in a new enviornment exploring ancient cobblestone streets.

Summer, unlike other seasons, makes me dream of time away from my routine.

It's a mind set, a craving, a wistful yearning.

An itch I need to scratch.

Day 7

One of life's little pleasures is working from home.

I don't get to do it every day,

but when I can, I do.

Some of my most productive work days are from the confines of my house.

Conference calls, meetings, and reading scripts coalesce

with a lunchtime workout and dinner prep.

And when rush hour traffic peaks, especially on a Friday,

I'm already home, transitioning into a weekend state of mind.

Anthony Bourdain

Move.
As far as you can, as much as you can.
Across the ocean, or simply across the river.
Walk in someone else's shoes or at least eat their food.
Open your mind, get off the couch.
Move.

Anthony Bourdain

Day 6

Whenever an event is happening at The Hollywood Bowl searchlights over the venue

create two beams of intersecting lights.  

I've always been enchanted by the magical static x

prominently featured from my living room balcony.

Never knowing its true purpose my imagination filled in the gap —

a modern day bat signal for buried treasure or an alien landing.

A little google search revealed the lights' true purpose:

to alert pilots to concerts below and therefore ward off aircraft noise.

And all along I though it was solely  for the aesthetics!

Day 5

To wash away the day's grit, 

he opted for a soak in the tub.

This man, raised on the ocean's edge,

is drawn to any body of water,

even a bathroom vessel filled with mineral salts.

Like a boy he submerged his head

and counted how many seconds he could hold his breath.

Air bubbles rose to the surface

distorting his face.

The sun was dipping lower in the sky and I had not yet taken a photograph.

This 100 day project has been more like a burden than a welcomed creative outlet.

When I returned with my camera and a pleading look in my eyes

he looked at me with an incredulous grin

"Pretend I'm Annie Liebovietz

and you're Whoopie Goldberg in a vat of milk."

Snap.

Day 4

Paper thin bougainvillea petals capture the light like The Queens jewels at coronation.

Driving in the hills, this vision visually arrests me. 

In my opinion, the photos never do the image justice

but I shoot it anyway.

Day Four.

Premiere Day

Premiere day is here!

Trapped downtown at the courthouse for jury duty, again,

and rushing to get to the taping of Unapologetic pre-premiere screening

made for a day without a photo.

Although I did have my camera with me,

the opportunity just didn't present itself.

This project isn't about perfection,

it's about triggering creativity.

Tomorrow is another day.

Back to DIETLAND, from the LA TIMES

"The predominantly female produced, written and directed series plays with topical issues of empowerment, rape culture and objectification in sharp-witted and insightful hour-long episodes."

Long Live DIETLAND!

Day 3

When I feel overwhelmed by too many tasks or the speed at which time passes

I go back the very moment I'm in and reground in the present.

I didn't look any further than my backyard for an image today.

There is beauty in the unpretentious, uncomplicated objects around me.

In fact, I could probably shoot them for 100 days and find an ocean of assets.

Sometimes the expansiveness of the universe, of my world overwhelms me.

I want to experience ALL of it.  Take it all in.

This picture makes me wonder if the greatest expanse of all is the deep connection to the details around me.

Day 2

Driving around LA in the late afternoon light is simply magical.

Dancing shadows on stucco facades and dappled light arcing through the canyon

has an astounding effect on my mood.

I wish I could capture the feeling and incase it in a snow globe.

Day 1

For years, wherever I went, my camera was slung across body.

In fact, this blog was created as a repository for the many images I was taking.

A small bruise on my right hip would bloom after a day

of the camera repeatedly coming into contact with bone. 

As I immersed myself into producing Dietland,

more and more days passed with the camera remaining in my car or hotel room.

All of my creative energy was going towards bringing MN's vision to the small screen.

It was exhilarating, energizing, but left no room for my own artistic expression.

When I have picked up the camera in the last few months I've been very disappointed with the results.

My playfulness, my eye, my technique all seem to be in hibernation.

Work remains demanding and a green lit for a writers room in July has me still in overdrive,

but I'm desperate to reconnect with my imagination. 

My personal expression is screaming for attention.

Part of me is eager to explore other mediums, but for now I'm going to stick with photography.

In the past, projects have forced me to be nimble.

I have to shoot and commit to posting an image every day.

No judgement as I force myself to carve out time, every day, 

for my own creative expression.

Today is Day One of The Hundred Day Project.

Three months coinciding with the long days of summer

invoking ocean waves and lazy Sundays eating watermelon.