The trip that Colin C. and I took to SoCal's Sunken City in San Pedro was incredible. Down by the sea, where the wind was blowing so fast I almost felt like I could lean into it and drift away. Listening to the waves crash against the ocean and the occasional gull flying by.
It's beautiful, broken, graffitied, and represents urban decay. Or rather, how I like to look at it, nature taking back what it rightfully owns. The Los Angeles Abandoned Zoo is rather like this. Vines growing over everything, wildflowers just starting to bloom, and rusty, old everything entangled amongst it.
The icing on the cake was the fact that there were a bunch of teenagers drinking beer and smoking out in this painted landscape. One even said to us, "Beautiful, isn't it?" Yes.
It made me wonder about my characters. I know the places that I go to make myself feel like a real human being. Star Island in NH is one of them, my spirit's home, if you will. But do my character's feel so strongly about a place - a place that they feel obligated to go back to because they feel such a strong attachment to it? And what happens when something that you thought was beautiful happens in that space, but something in the present corrupts it. Do you go back to the place? Do you still maintain your image of it, or is it now broken like the rest of the world? And what happens when you can't rely on that space anymore?
Anthony, Jessica, and Sophie... Do they have these spaces. I know Sophie's by heart, because she's very much like me. Anthony might not have a safe space. I think he tends to act out too much to want to admit that he has a safe-zone. I know where he runs to that one night, but what happens after he can't run there anymore? He goes elsewhere. I think his space relies more on the company in it. More on the people he is surrounded with and less with his surroundings. And Jessica... her whole journey is about finding a space for herself. Is that enough of a journey?
Photos to come of Sunken City, will be added to my flickr and my photo blog in the scenery section, probably.
Showing posts with label drama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drama. Show all posts
Friday, May 28, 2010
Friday, April 30, 2010
Once Upon a Time...
The end.
Finding inspiration in Los Angeles is hard. At least, I find it to be the hardest thing. Maybe it's because I don't have as much free time on my hands. In Boston, I took the T every day (subway, what have you). I had about 45 minutes of commute time to do whatever I wanted.
When I was an RA and lived on campus, I had time meeting with people one on one. Asking them about their experiences in college. Getting into the messy little drama of their lives, sometimes, they wouldn't even want to talk to me about anything - but it came pouring out in an overflow of emotions. When you bottle something up, sometimes it comes out to a person you'd never expect. Sometimes you just do it to get sympathy, sometimes you do it for the attention, and sometimes you do it because you really need the help. Whatever it be, it happens.
These experiences, these moments in my life, gave me time to think, to observe, and to imagine. A similar experience happened last night. I allowed my childhood to come to the surface. Instead of opening the lock to my boyfriend's gate, I pretended the combination was some secret, hidden message that I had spent hours decoding. I walked along the sidewalk with hesitation - what if I were to get caught in this top secret place. High security all around.
And then something happened, after I felt pretty silly about the story that was going through my head, I looked up at this tree. It was a windy night, crisp air running through Los Angeles, which is saying something because the city usually has this musty smell to it. The tree was shaking violently in the strong gusts of wind. I watched it, and the light trying to pour through the cracks in the leaves from the overhead street lamp. The patterns it was making, the way the branches gnarled over each other, the way the bark seemed to curl around itself all the way up the tree.
I realized what I had been missing. This childish instinct to explore. To see things, to know things, to wonder and wander. I've stayed so caught up in my life that I forgot to see.
Today, on the way to work, I saw this older woman waiting for her bus. She looked to stoic. I was jealous, almost furious with her that she could wait so calmly while I waded my way through traffic. But then I felt blessed. To have seen that look on that face, to almost know her. She looked sad almost...
Almost like that girl in the waiting room, when she came out to get her boyfriend/husband. The look on her face was solemn. More worried like he wasn't going to stay for her. She glanced up and met his eyes and he stood straight up, walked over to her, and silently grabbed her hand.
Everyone is living so many different lives. Everyone has so many stories to tell. And I've been missing out on all of these opportunities because my blinders have been on.
Finding inspiration in Los Angeles is hard. At least, I find it to be the hardest thing. Maybe it's because I don't have as much free time on my hands. In Boston, I took the T every day (subway, what have you). I had about 45 minutes of commute time to do whatever I wanted.
When I was an RA and lived on campus, I had time meeting with people one on one. Asking them about their experiences in college. Getting into the messy little drama of their lives, sometimes, they wouldn't even want to talk to me about anything - but it came pouring out in an overflow of emotions. When you bottle something up, sometimes it comes out to a person you'd never expect. Sometimes you just do it to get sympathy, sometimes you do it for the attention, and sometimes you do it because you really need the help. Whatever it be, it happens.
These experiences, these moments in my life, gave me time to think, to observe, and to imagine. A similar experience happened last night. I allowed my childhood to come to the surface. Instead of opening the lock to my boyfriend's gate, I pretended the combination was some secret, hidden message that I had spent hours decoding. I walked along the sidewalk with hesitation - what if I were to get caught in this top secret place. High security all around.
And then something happened, after I felt pretty silly about the story that was going through my head, I looked up at this tree. It was a windy night, crisp air running through Los Angeles, which is saying something because the city usually has this musty smell to it. The tree was shaking violently in the strong gusts of wind. I watched it, and the light trying to pour through the cracks in the leaves from the overhead street lamp. The patterns it was making, the way the branches gnarled over each other, the way the bark seemed to curl around itself all the way up the tree.
I realized what I had been missing. This childish instinct to explore. To see things, to know things, to wonder and wander. I've stayed so caught up in my life that I forgot to see.
Today, on the way to work, I saw this older woman waiting for her bus. She looked to stoic. I was jealous, almost furious with her that she could wait so calmly while I waded my way through traffic. But then I felt blessed. To have seen that look on that face, to almost know her. She looked sad almost...
Almost like that girl in the waiting room, when she came out to get her boyfriend/husband. The look on her face was solemn. More worried like he wasn't going to stay for her. She glanced up and met his eyes and he stood straight up, walked over to her, and silently grabbed her hand.
Everyone is living so many different lives. Everyone has so many stories to tell. And I've been missing out on all of these opportunities because my blinders have been on.
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