7:17 am. The horizon between when I feel slightly chilly, sitting outside on the terrace in the courtyard, and when the southern Californian sun rises up in all its majesty. I wonder if there are local words here describing the sultleties, if any, of the sun here. For it would seem to me that it is either mid-day sun, or it is not. But then I am just a foreigner, accustomed to clouds which mediate my relationship to the sun.
It was a beautiful, rosy evening yesterday at the Getty. I had spent the day driving up the coastal highway, in search of what I always do here - lunch, trinkets, a shady parking spot. The sunset was soft and long. We, again waved our gallery opening invitation and our badge, and to our surprise, were directed to drive up the holy, sacred way to The Parking at the Top. Not even other researchers here at the house were permitted this. We must have done something good.
The Getty is an extraordinary setting. And it created one also. One does feel like a god or goddess in the clouds. Many beautiful people, and there was an endlesd supply of food and drink. Think that the food outlasted people's appetite. Such was the pervasive generosity that evening presented.
G showed me around this kingdom - the plants, the views, her office. Of the four walls in it, the two opposite walls each have a door to a terrace. It was a space in which the idea that fresh air, a view, and productivity need not be exclusive of each other.
Today, a bit of packing, and then the Eames House No. 8.
Tuesday, 26 July 2016
Sunday, 24 July 2016
Breezes
A slight breeze blows. So long as this city remains by the coast, this shall always be. The sun preheats us this morning, in unadulterated strength. The sky is blue, unlike yesterday, when haze from the fire in the mountains just north cast its veil over the city, precipitating a dusting of ash on all our cars, as if it were trying to bury the cause of its ignition.
The morning started with breakfast by the pool, G brings out newly baked flat buns from the oven. They are called bathtub buns, as it takes as long for them to bake as it takes one to take a bath.
G is at a research institute on a scholarship, which includes lodging here. I have met a few here around the pool, and a few more at brunch yesterday at the director's house. It was a modest, elegant house, small and generous, much like the hostess herself. The company was made of mostly German speaking researchers, freelance writers, and others involved with art history of various commands. It was a casual, beautiful company to be with.
We planned to visit the Getty Villa. Being who we were with, with gracious people who enjoy opening doors for others, we were tipped with the location of the back door. We showed the guard a badge, sang sweetly, and were let in through otherwise private gates. A 'brand new' Roman villa, for me the most exciting aspect was where the different whole spaces came together, much like a vertical labyrinth.
In the afternoon, I type in my cousin's address. In the quiet of my mind on the flight here, I lamented how far my relatives are in Australia. They are simply nice people to be with, and it is nice to be forever connected to them. The next morning a vague recollection bubbled to the surface: that I have a cousin here. 'Here' means a 2 h freeway drive, draining the battery on my hot phone on Waze. All I can say is that I can't wait to see my nephew again - 7 years young going on 30. We had a lovely time by the pool and bbq, in a neighbourhood where neighbours own the houses they grew up in.
The morning started with breakfast by the pool, G brings out newly baked flat buns from the oven. They are called bathtub buns, as it takes as long for them to bake as it takes one to take a bath.
G is at a research institute on a scholarship, which includes lodging here. I have met a few here around the pool, and a few more at brunch yesterday at the director's house. It was a modest, elegant house, small and generous, much like the hostess herself. The company was made of mostly German speaking researchers, freelance writers, and others involved with art history of various commands. It was a casual, beautiful company to be with.
We planned to visit the Getty Villa. Being who we were with, with gracious people who enjoy opening doors for others, we were tipped with the location of the back door. We showed the guard a badge, sang sweetly, and were let in through otherwise private gates. A 'brand new' Roman villa, for me the most exciting aspect was where the different whole spaces came together, much like a vertical labyrinth.
In the afternoon, I type in my cousin's address. In the quiet of my mind on the flight here, I lamented how far my relatives are in Australia. They are simply nice people to be with, and it is nice to be forever connected to them. The next morning a vague recollection bubbled to the surface: that I have a cousin here. 'Here' means a 2 h freeway drive, draining the battery on my hot phone on Waze. All I can say is that I can't wait to see my nephew again - 7 years young going on 30. We had a lovely time by the pool and bbq, in a neighbourhood where neighbours own the houses they grew up in.
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