Last weekend I went to the Brewery art walk. As usual, I took some really shitty pictures, mainly because I wasn't that moved to photograph that day. Plus, my pictures have been of major suckage lately, and I think it's because my little camera is getting old and is low mega pixel. It's an awesome camera, just not for more artistic photographs. It's one with a screen instead of a viewfinder, which has always thrown off my composition and focus when shooting pictures. The show took place in an artist's colony where the artists live and work. It used to be you guessed it, a brewery.
This was one that I took inside a gallery. I liked it because it was the number three, and I was born August 3rd.
I was thinking today that things are going well and how that made for much less interesting blogging. I look at my older posts, so introspective and descriptive of my battle with depression. It's also weird to be older in a place where I was much younger and volatile. I'm driving down the Caheunga Pass and can almost see myself in my mid-twenties speeding past me. I would have been speeding past me, too with the passive way that I drive now. I was quick to anger but also quick to be excited and inspired. I only miss the good parts of her, that ghost of my twenties whom I see everywhere. In ballet class, her hand resting on the very same barre as mine, driving on streets, in friend's houses and apartments, in restaurants and coffee places that are still there. I'll see her again in the hair place that I'm going to on the weekend. All these places are hip to go to almost to a point where it ruins what I liked about them in the first place. They were hip before, but that hidden kind of hip. It was a fantastic time to be in my mid-twenties in Los Angeles. It was happening and raw, and that odd sort of cool that I've only experienced here. So many pockets of activity.
I don't miss the bad parts of her. The undiagnosed clinically depressed person who kept running into walls and not knowing why. The raw anger and need to prove myself that so frequently misguided me. There were great parts of her but I'm glad I'm in this mental space now and not on such a learning curve. I think there's a bunch more to discover and open up now that I've gotten her out of the way and manageable. I let her roam every now and then, but she knows who's boss.
Last Friday, Shannon and I went to see a documentary on Nick Drake at the Egyptian Theater in Hollywood. If you don't know who he is, you should. Shannon told me that he thinks I was Nick Drake in another life. He suffered from depression and eventually his getting in his own way and feeling so intensely led him to taking his own life. Thankfully, it wasn't the suicide that made Shannon make the comparison, but the sensibility and struggle with the black beast. It was a little unnerving watching it, because after it his sister, producer and friend answered questions. I felt like some of it was indeed very familiar, and the first documentary, the way they filmed it was spot on. No footage of him exists, so it was all done in pictures and interviews. You may know his music from the Volkswagen commercial a few years back. That song was Pink Moon. He only recorded three albums. Too bad, a brilliant musician and so talented. But, he did leave us with the gift he was able to give.
Here is the commercial. When I saw it I completely related with it. I'd done the same thing countless times when I had a convertible, driven under the stars letting the world in.