Hockney's Still Life
I wrote this long before I had a blog, but it's still true today, so…
Sunday May 1, 2005
It's another silent morning in Santa Monica. I can't help but marvel at how deadly quiet it is in Los Angeles. Perhaps I feel this way because I got too used to the roosters, the dogs, donkeys, and early morning mariachi band practices in the last few months I spent in Mexico. It still weirds me out a bit. There is something non-life about this much silence. It's beyond still life. It's diving right into David Hockney's placid pool. But that would make a splash, a sound, a ripple and we must keep this environment intact. Even if it is a surreal silence.
Occasionally, the silence is pierced by an errant car alarm, cutting through the still, like OJ's knife. The screeching beep-beep-beep honk-honk-honk is a hint of the violence that runs underneath all the silence in LA.
There's an air of unhappiness. There is also an air of false joy -- as if all Los Angelenos were merely cast members in an elaborate Disney production. They smile, they joke, they chat on their cell phones -- but everyone guards his inner self like a dark secret. In "life" they are not insecure, untalented waitresses. In "life" they are aspiring actresses, poets, painters making a living some other way until "life" catches up with life. Even the homeless seem to be something they are not. I wonder if they are panhandling because they can make more money this way than running errands, helping with construction, sitting at a desk...
I suppose it is also this distinction between "life" and life that can make Los Angeles feel so lifeless.
Sunday May 1, 2005
It's another silent morning in Santa Monica. I can't help but marvel at how deadly quiet it is in Los Angeles. Perhaps I feel this way because I got too used to the roosters, the dogs, donkeys, and early morning mariachi band practices in the last few months I spent in Mexico. It still weirds me out a bit. There is something non-life about this much silence. It's beyond still life. It's diving right into David Hockney's placid pool. But that would make a splash, a sound, a ripple and we must keep this environment intact. Even if it is a surreal silence.
Occasionally, the silence is pierced by an errant car alarm, cutting through the still, like OJ's knife. The screeching beep-beep-beep honk-honk-honk is a hint of the violence that runs underneath all the silence in LA.
There's an air of unhappiness. There is also an air of false joy -- as if all Los Angelenos were merely cast members in an elaborate Disney production. They smile, they joke, they chat on their cell phones -- but everyone guards his inner self like a dark secret. In "life" they are not insecure, untalented waitresses. In "life" they are aspiring actresses, poets, painters making a living some other way until "life" catches up with life. Even the homeless seem to be something they are not. I wonder if they are panhandling because they can make more money this way than running errands, helping with construction, sitting at a desk...
I suppose it is also this distinction between "life" and life that can make Los Angeles feel so lifeless.
posted by bad-dog at 7:54 PM
2 Comments:
Very dark blog indeed... I hope you don't feel this way for too long into the new year... I can see what you mean though with L.A., however there must some genuine joy left there somewhere.... Seek it out enjoy..
All the best for the new year... entropy.info
Thanks for reading w-w-w, Martin. I AM enjoying Life. And when in LA, I enjoy the Still Life. But it ain't Cairns!! LOL
All the best for 2007 to you, too.
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