Morning. On my way to school. I head south on Figueroa all the way down past Sycamore Grove Park. Everyday I look at the white bones of these trees and imagine all the pictures I will take of them. Only I have to hurry because soon they’ll be putting out new leaves and the white trunks will be covered with velvety sycamore leaves the size of file folders. I drive under this freeway overpass and think how cool the long morning shadows look against the concrete.
Then I get to the Broadway Bridge that leads into Chinatown. I love that bridge. Some mornings there are hawks perched high atop the street lights. From the bridge I can see the skyline of the city. Nothing looks more lovely in the morning than all of those shimmering glass buildings reflecting the lavendar and gold light. This morning I got honked at a lot, but I ignored all of my detractors. Most of the time I don’t even look through the lens I just point and shoot. I like the crooked out-the-window quality of most of the photos.
There is a lot of beauty in this gritty neighborhood just west of downtown if you know where to direct your eyes. Like this morning towards the end of my ride I spotted these old Wilshire Special street lamps from the late 20’s. There are about 100 of them in between downtown and McArthur Park. I think they are still in use. Will have to come back some evening to find out. I haven’t used my camera much at twilight so this will be a good reason.
I went off-track today. That means I have the next 60 days spread out before me like nobody’s business. Even though I’m going to miss sweet Jose telling me stories about Evelyn and Junior his pet chicken and rooster that live INSIDE his apartment, I am not going to miss the daily grind. The idea of a morning cup of coffee on my front porch makes me giddy. I have a lot of gardening to catch up on. My windowboxes are shriveled and in general my poor garden is a wild tangle of branches, leaves & flowers. I can leave it that way if I want. I can wake up and make art or go sit at Starbucks and write down the conversations of strangers. I can sketch my shoes, pet my cats, go camping in Big Sur. I can make aprons all day long or go to Mexico. I could get my hair cut. The next 8 weeks belong to ME.