How can I describe a palm tree? How can I describe the hills or the ocean or the small swimming pools all around? How do I even begin to tell the story of a death museum I saw in LA? I did not get in, but it made perfect sense, a MUSEUM OF DEATH in Hollywood, like a faithful guardian of all the soon to be forgotten movie stars. LA is not a city, LA is never to be walked, LA is this empty space where glamour only comes to visit from time to time. How can I say something about West Hollywood with its designer stores : Marc Jacobs on one side of the street and Marc by Marc Jacobs on the other side of the street? How can I start telling you about how people drink wine on terraces and never talk too loudly? How can I forget the homeless people in the bus stations, with their plastic bags and dusty clothes, waiting for you to get out of your car and taste the real life? How can I eat all the tacos without missing the food carts in New York? How does one even begin a life somewhere so close to an always pre-arranged, staged, recorded and cut existence?
self-portraits taken in Laguna Niguel, CA