What Life Hands You
In the movie Annie Hall there's a great statement. Alvie Singer, the character played by Woody Allen says “I don't want to move to a city where the only cultural advantage is being able to make a right turn on a red light.”
I’ve thought of that for years out here, weighing the benefits and adversities of life in LA vs. NY. Probably the thing I love most about visiting my home town is looking down at the city as the plane lands at JFK. For years I've always taken the red-eye, so the light is just beginning to change as we arrive. All the street lights are still twinkling, and the square blocks are well-defined. We lower down over the water, and there is the Statue of Liberty, and some lit-up ferries floating around. It's nothing less than grand, romantic, and full of potential. It's a Gershwin tune. When I return home there's nothing to see down there...some blue pools...lots and lots of freeways. There's no song in it.
But so much of life happens by default. You follow your boyfriend across the country so you can be together, drop anchor in some crappy city, but you stay because you're so crazy about him (accent on 'crazy'). You start your business, make your friends, find your favorite restaurants, and then a few years later when your beloved dumps you, there you are, with a life in a place you never chose. Wake up, this is your HOME! The best part of this place is not the weather, although that's what people say...it's the fact that you can move a mile and a half away, still be in LA, yet you've entered an entirely new city. Just the difference between Silver Lake and Echo Park is astonishing. I moved into my apartment 20 years ago, and the change all around me is quite dramatic. Gentrification is not progress...don't let anyone tell you that. Right next door there's a guy building a giant ugly eyesore where there once was a cabin. I looked up all the records, and he's calling it a 'renovation'. I guess that's because he kept the original front door. For 2 years I've been dealing with noise and dirt, and now they're working on the back yard, 'terracing' the dirt downhill. This should be interesting when our rainy season starts. I guess the water will flow down, and then stop, seeping into the stucco of my building. I can hardly wait. The real tragedy of this project is that upstairs in my studio...my beautiful sky-lit studio with the spiral staircase leading up, the noise is so impossible I can't work there anymore. Barring moving away and finding a lousy one-bedroom apartment for $3000.00, my interim measure was to locate a new place to paint. At least then I would have an escape.
Have you heard the expression 'Polish over here, and it shines over there.'? I think it's brilliant. Whenever I'm working diligently to achieve some goddamn thing, with a lofty goal in mind, inevitably something flies in out of the blue that's a complete surprise. I'm convinced this couldn't happen unless I was busy doing the work....the other work according to MY plan. I wish results happened while we napped, but I know there's effort involved in all this stuff...sweaty footwork. And it always means in LA, a lot of driving around. I started on my search for a place to paint...checking the adds, making appointments, schlepping out to neighborhoods of light industry. I hadn't looked for a work space in 20 years, and what I saw shocked me. Dark rooms, dirty garages with wood paneling, grey spaces with grey carpets...all perfect spots for suicide.
About 6 months ago I went to a fundraiser that my friend Marty had organized to raise money for an artist's residency he was building in Norway. He is probably my most adventurous friend. I asked him once if he hated flying. He blythely replied 'Oh no! It means I'm on my way to some marvelous place!' Clearly he and I are made of different stuff. Marty held the fundraiser in the upper garden of a building he's lived in for exactly the same amount of time I've been in mine. The difference is that over there nothing has changed. A mere mile and a half away and the neighborhood is intact, with lots of structures from the 20's, and a big park in the center of it all with a lake and paddleboats. The event was very lively, with a talk and a slide show, and flan! They had a caterer who brought big trays of FLAN...in my opinion, the most delicous food of all.
The next day I was talking to my sister on the phone and she said 'I think there's a place for you to work there in that building. Now, I've never mentioned this, but she has true psychic abilities. When dad was alive and he'd lose something..'Where are those fucking hearing aids?' she would go into the study where he'd been, and walk around the room, being drawn to an area that would be warm. As she got closer to the object the temperature would heat up until she found it. She always found it. Our mom had similar talents. She could always guess what anything cost. Her talent was for numbers. It was quite impressive! So I called Marty and indeed, there was a room right under him that was empty, except for some storage closets for the building. Try to picture a wall of windows from floor to ceiling , and a glass door leading out into a little vestibule with an archway, looking out onto that park. Nobody used it. How could that be? It must've been waiting for me. So I have a place to go, a place that's quiet, a place where there is magic. Flanking the glass door are 2 lemon bushes in pots. The butterflies seem to love these. Just yesterday I watched as some giant monarchs swooped around checking things out. It was like watching a Disney cartoon! I've picked some of these lemons, and they're perfect, thin-skinned and juicy. I've created a kind of relish that's very easy to prepare and is a great accompaniment to coastal ambivalence.
L. A. Gremolata
I nice big lemon
2 cloves garlic, minced fine
large bunch cilantro, chopped, about a cup
finely chopped red onion, just a bit, about 1/3 cup
1 teaspoon honey
¼ teaspoon salt
1/3 cup grapeseed oil
Peel your lemon carefully, being sure to get only the yellow part, and none of the white, which is bitter. Chop super-fine by hand.
Squeeze juice from the same lemon, and add chopped peel.
Add all other ingredients, and stir. It will make about a cup. This is a sauce that improves with age. After 24 hours the flavors will merge, and the garlic will become sweeter, so make it the day before you will use it. It's great on a piece of poached salmon, wild-caught of course...especially if you're in L.A.