LA outtakes for the last three days

Arrival

LA at night

We didn't leave Nevada until nearly four in the afternoon
on Sunday. We drove so we got into LA pretty late.
Minerva loved it but we were pretty rummy by the time we arrived.

Home for the next week. 

The Piccadilly is right in the middle of downtown but
was built in 1928 and embodies the charm of old Hollywood.
We have a top (7th) floor, two bedroom apartment.

His mom joined us from Oregon.

M. Lee found the place on AirBnB. It's way nicer and cheaper
than a motel would be, plus it's really interesting staying in a stranger's home.

Norton Simon Museum

The Mulberry Tree by Vincent van Gogh (1889)

Van Gogh did this painting shortly after entering the asylum near Arles.
Less than eight months after completing it, he committed suicide.

Venice Beach

The Green Doctors of Venice Beach

Whatever anyone thinks about the "morality of marijuana",
growing pot and selling pot legally in the US is not only good medicine
and a good business, it castrates the cartels by gutting their profits.

On days like these

Morning. Another day in the salt mine...dwarfs marching, picks shouldered, hoods and cloaks pulled close to fend off morning chill. But first, another cup of coffee. Hold on. I'll be right back.

Ok. While I was in the kitchen M. Lee gave me a tip. Rather than standing there for five minutes of eternity watching oatmeal cook put it in pot with water, bring it to a boil, turn off the heat, put the lid on and leave it to finish on its own. Easy peasy but is it any good? He does his overnight in a crock pot but I don't like it that way. It's kind of slimy. So where was I?

Oh right...hooded figures entering the earth. Sand continues to fall through the glass. I'm not doing much lately though I am painting. But mostly with a size 00 brush which, as you might imagine, is very tiny. It's kind of crazy but I've got two in the works. No poems though. That's been awhile. Talk about writer's block. It's awful. So I paint and have been posting photos to Panoramio.  So far, out of 62, 39 have been accepted into Google Earth so that's some small contribution anyway. And this month I submitted a couple of photos to their Geotagged Photo Contest. Woo-hoo. Kids! Win big prizes!

And, Babette is still running her operation at the Bird Park, Baby Frank is thriving, yesterday Mr. Leo did his first somersault at gymnastics and Ms. Thea Bella is really gunning it on her balance bike. So I have a lot to be grateful about.

Afternoon already? Damn. Gotta get to the gym before I turn to stone.


PS. The oatmeal turned out ok.

Mitt Romney Debates Himself

Babette and Mr. Fancy Pants

I hope their paths never cross!

Lots of action at the Bird Park these days, new arrivals and surprise returnees. Henry the Frog is the newest resident. I've only seen him once but occasionally I hear his strange raspy little voice. He doesn't sound like any frog I've ever heard. And Mr. Fancy Pants is back, unfortunately making things considerably more dangerous. The gangster cats are bad enough but this guy is lethal. I don't begrudge him dropping by for a drink now and then but the other day, at the request of a group of very irate finches, I had to ask him to leave. We all want him to eat somewhere else.

Mr. Fancy Pants

The other big news around here is that Babette, aka (bottom of the barrel) BoB, showed up again. I haven't seen her for a couple of years. Unfortunately, she seems pretty unaware that Mr. Fancy Pants might be watching. She scoots in under the fence from Dick's side and grazes on the seed dropped from the feeders. That area is somewhat protected but she also runs around the yard digging holes and burying seeds as though the Bird Park were still the safe little world it used to be. Scary.

Babette

But for the moment anyway, life is good. She even manages to squeeze into the seed tray generally accessible only to the little birds. Crows, magpies and pigeons have all done their best to plunder that pile of goodies, hanging by one claw while scrambling desperately to grab a seed or two, only to fall gracelessly to the ground. Not Babette.

Doing what squirrels do best.

Coffee with Swami, not the Mona Lisa

This morning I got up about five. After starting the coffee, I went outside for a look at the stars. Venus was in the east over the Bird Park, Jupiter at the top and in the west a nearly full moon had just dipped behind Dwayne's giant arching willow tree of life which fills that once horizon beyond our backyard fence. This behemoth entirely blocks our view of the Sierra, the one we enjoyed when the housing development was new and had no trees of note. In spite of all that, the moon was quite lovely glowing through its branches. I ran in to get my camera but by the time I got back, only moments later, it had slipped further down and it's light too obscure so I didn't bother.You'll have to use your imagination.

Instead, and still before dawn, I worked on my current new painting. This one is of Swami, the Invisible Theatre's  first and most venerable resident. He's a great model, always upbeat and encouraging. As the Mona Lisa was one of the few must-see treasures we obstinately did not see during our five weeks in Paris this summer, I created a Mona Lisa type backdrop for him. At the moment, I'm struggling with the hills over his left shoulder. I will have to paint them out and start over. For the little experience I've had working with oils I miss them. It's pretty hard pushing acrylics around. They are water colors after all and dry in a flash. And, no excuse, but this is only my third time using them. At least I am not suffering the delusion that I have to match the Master.  So on with the day. Have a good one.

The Mexican Mormon War

"As long as drugs are illegal in the US, America is the swimming pool, Mexico is the dining board." - Kelly Romney, Mitt Romney's cousin.

The Mexican Mormon War 1/7

This by way of VICE News from M. Lee this morning, thank you very much. It's well worth a watch.

 

Compassionate pig

Compassionate pig rescues baby goat whose foot is stuck underwater at petting zoo.

This short video should challenge the thoughtful still attached to the idea that animals are incapable of "human" emotions like compassion and empathy.

Art Brut & Centre Pompidou

Art brut:  Art by psychiatric patients, prisoners, and children according to Jean Dubuffet who coined the term. Low art. Outsider art. I fit somewhere in that. So said, here is my latest. It was a bday present for M. Lee last week. The image is based on a photograph I took of him wandering through Dubuffet's Jardin d'hiver (Winter Garden) at Centre Pompidou in Paris this summer. Along with this huge installation, we spent hours wandering through their MASSIVE collection of fabulous art. I believe, of all the museums we visited this summer, it was my favorite.

M. Lee in Dubuffet's Jardin d'hiver
(acrylic on poster board)

So, as you might expect from any outsider/psychiatric patient/criminal/child artist type, the perspectives in this painting are a bit askew so don't try following them out. I do think I captured the essence of M. Lee rather nicely though, and all in one day, although he was a bit concerned about being a blue alien.

Centre Pompidou, Paris

M. Dubuffet

Little birds in a random universe

Commenting on my earlier post today, Roy wrote... "I'm sorry. Sometimes the universe is too random for the little guys like that."

Wise words, cold comfort but they help. 

I went out this afternoon to bury the little bird who died in my care sometime over the night. I was not prepared for what I found. Last night I thought he had snuggled safely into the folds of the big blue towel I padded the terrarium with. I checked before I went to bed. All seemed well. He was safe from predators. I left him with a pile of tasty sunflower and thistle seeds and watermelon to stay hydrated. All tucked in for the night. Warm evening.

Upon opening the screen this afternoon, I saw that at some point he got tangled up in a long loose thread in the towel, twisting and turning so violently that the string wrapped several times around his neck and broke it. I am heartsick. I buried him in the tiny graveyard that has developed in the Bird Park by the aspen trees. So it is; life and death in a universe that is sometimes too random for us all.