I’ve felt like I have been stuck in San Francisco for a long
time. I’ve always entertained the idea of moving away, but relationships,
school, and work have always put an end to those thoughts. I made the excuse
that if I couldn’t make my career happen in San Francisco, I didn’t want to run
off to another city to have to start over. When I told a friend why I was
moving she said that it sounded like the plot to “Eat, Pray, Love” whatever that’s
supposed to mean.
I pack my car for the two-month journey and head down on a
beautiful, clear day. I take Highway 1 and take my time. The roads are open and
I really let loose around Monterey only to be pulled over for going 91mph in a
55 zone. The officer cuts me a break and puts me down for 75.
“Are you an artist or something?” He asks gesturing to the
paintings in the backseat.
“Yeah, just doing a little stint in LA.”
“Good luck.”
I spend the first few nights in LA on a friend’s couch
before I move to my place downtown. The apartment I sublet is above a tire shop
on Central Ave and 7th. I share a live/work studio with my roommate
D____ who works at the library of a prestigious art school. The studio is 2
blocks away from the heart of Skid Row and there’s quite a bit of runoff. I
wake up to drug and alcohol induced screaming matches outside my window
routinely. It takes awhile, but the traffic and late night debauchery soon just
become a soft background noise. I am
looking for change, but not quite sure where to find it.
Downtown LA and Struggles the Cat
I wake up to coffee and cigarettes on most days. The
apartment has a large patio and I meet my neighbor P____ and the property cat,
Struggles. He’s an actor and Uber driver which I soon learn is a pretty common
occupation around here. Struggles is a white cat with black spots and meows
loudly at my feet every time he wants to be pet. P_____’s got on black jeans
and boots, a jean jacket with no t-shirt. Struggles is covered in a thick layer
of dust. P_____ is still up from the night before and I’m sure Struggles has
been` too.
“I’m still tripping on acid.” P_____ says wide-eyed and grinning, “I mean it’s pretty good stuff.”
He is manic and gesticulates wildly, he gives me a monologue
from a class he participated in the night before. I listen patiently and have
another cigarette and sip my coffee.
“This is the last bender for a month. I’ve really been going
at it pretty hard” he says more to himself than to me.
Studio Downtown LA
I paint all day and go out nightly. The tire shop downstairs
starts going around 8am and blasts the Top 100 hip hop radio station, but it
feels more like 10 songs on repeat. I live on bread, lunch meat, bags of
spinach and canned soup and binge watch the entirety of The Office in a few
weeks. I start and set a deadline for
the dot paintings. There are set parameters, guidelines and rules which forces
me to focus on the technique and color choice. Painting cut down to the very
basics. I need to simplify things in my practice and in my life.
My friend R_____ comes over one night and we split a fifth
and a few beers. He’s a real slick guy and with lots of energy. He tells me
that him and his girlfriend are in an open relationship. We go out Echo park
and end up at a club having a salsa night. We spend the night chasing women and
I end up with a date with a girl named D_____ the following day.
D_____ picks me up from a show in the Arts District and I
can tell she is nervous. During the date I get a call from my brother saying
that our Grandfather has passed away. I tell D_____ and she is understanding
about the whole ordeal. I never see her again. I drive back to SF a few days
after because my passport is at home and I fly out to Taiwan. It is a
depressing trip and I manage to get in a bar fight a few days after the funeral
for good measure. It’s something I’ve tried to stay away from but I guess that
some demons are harder to get rid of than others.
I fly back into LAX and spend two more weeks downtown. I
have a black eye for a few days, but only a college friend ever really notices
it or at least brings it up in conversation.
“Dude, did you get punched in the face?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean how does the other guy look?”
“Worse than me.”
“Daniel, aren’t you a little old for bar fights?”
“Apparently not.”
Redondo Studio Cat
After a month downtown, I move out to a little place in
Redondo. It’s quite a drive away from most of my friends and that’s what I
really wanted anyways. I’ve rented a private room in a little house about a
mile from the beach with a couple and their 3 year old son. I’ve never lived near a beach before but am
willing to give it a try. The town is small and the beaches are pristine and
clean. Most days I wake up and paint until the sun is high overhead and make my
way to the water.
During the weekdays the beaches are almost completely empty.
Vast stretches of sunbleached sand and clear blue sea. No tourists, no kids,
just me and the ocean for miles. There are no clouds and it is a pleasant 75. I
listen to the waves crash rhythmically like a lazy metronome. I think about
going back to coaching, I think about the little things I worry about from day
to day. About money, about work, about family, about not getting where I want
to be. And in the moment it all seems very silly, these worries. Crash. I sit
and close my eyes and take the sea in. Crash. I dig my feet into the sand and
feel at peace with things. Crash. The moment is perfect and I wish that it
would last for a little bit longer, this feeling.
Redondo Studio
Each day I go through this routine and I am happier than I
have been for a long time. A girl I’m seeing, S____, spends a couple of nights
at my place. She’s wearing one of my T shirts and sitting on the bed when she
asks, “Will you miss me when I’m gone?”
“I’m not sure, it’s not something I’ve thought about.”
It doesn’t seem to be the right answer. We leave the
conversation at that and she seems to forget about it in the morning. I tell
her I’ll call, but that I’ll be on the road for the next few weeks.
The night before I leave Redondo I make a little sketch for
M_____, my host and her family. We smoke some pot together and chat about what
I’m doing and where I’m going next. She’s wearing a low cut one piece bathing
suit and a negligée. The suns been down for hours.
Somewhere Along the Coast
“I’m going to drive down to San Diego to see a college
friend.”
“And after that?”
“Probably just couch surfing for a bit. Silverlake or back
to the Artists District. I’m not sure yet.”
“What a life you live.”
“It’s only for a few more weeks. It's not like my entire life is rainbows and flowers.”
“It sounds like your life is a party. I still like to party
you know, but A____(her husband) is over it. Maybe when you come back from San
Diego we can go out.”
“Yeah that might be a possibility, I’ve really enjoyed
Redondo.”
“You know if A______ came out right now and I was sitting in
your lap he wouldn’t care.”
I excuse myself as courteously as possibly and go back to my
room.
I have lunch with a few friends in Santa Monica the next day
before I head down to San Diego. The traffic isn’t bad but my A/C decides to
die halfway there. I spend the next few days playing with his two kids and
seeing a glimpse of the insanity of being a parent. I learn that kids are easy
to trick and that chips and candy can solve most problems. I eat pizza three
meals in a row and don’t regret it until my stomach explodes. Sometimes I am a
little envious of my friends who have a family life, but the grass is always
greener.
San Diego Studio
I drive back to the Artists District after San Diego and
crash at a friend’s condo. I feel listless and antsy. I have one more week to
go before I’m supposed to go back North. I stay a few more days in the Artist
District and decide to cut the trip short and drive back home on a Tuesday
morning. I call S____ and tell her that I won’t be able to see her again.
“I thought you were going to stay for another week?”
“Yeah, just don’t think I can couch surf anymore.”
“You can come stay over my place” she offers, “You could
stay as long as you like.”
“I’ve got to go back, I’ve already set up some meetings
and…”
“When are you coming back?”
“Maybe sometime next year after I finish my coaching
stints.”
There’s a pause as she’s trying to figure things out.
“I just didn’t want this to happen.”
“What to happen?”
“This. I mean you’re just going to take off and it’s like it
all meant nothing.”
“We both knew this was going to happen. I’m only a flight
away.”
“I just thought that ... nothings never mind. I hope you
have a nice drive back.”
This time I take the 5 through the valley and make the trip
in 5 hours. The two months passed by in a blip and I return to the same house
and the same studio and the same life. Nothing has changed. The routine
remains, the past intact, because wherever you go, your troubles will follow
you.
Back Home Studio
I’m hoping I’ve moved past some of my fears. I’m hoping that
I’ve taken a few lessons away from this. If anything, at least I’ll always have
the few weeks of bliss on the beach. The waves and the memories of a moments
tranquility. Life is long and full of ups and downs, and nothing lasts forever. When I am in need of it, peace will always be there along the coast of California.
