As part of my "aesthetics of decay" imagery I like to take close ups of objects to see them in a new way. Zeroing in on these telephone poles without seeing the borders of where the pole ends or begins, we get to focus on the composition of found images as they melt and merge under the elements of sun and rain and random ripping removal to make space for more of the same.
Originally from Bountiful, Utah, interior designer Sue Balmforth came decades ago to Venice, California where she moved into a large artist's loft on Abbot Kinney Boulevard. Having begun her acquisition of the "beautiful" from the age of 13, she now had the space to grow. And grow she did until her studio-turned-shop began to burst with an astounding, no BOUNTIFUL collection of antiques—some flawless, but most filled with the charm of what I call "the aesthetics of decay."
Tables and chairs with patinas of chipped paint—very much in the spirit of "shabby chic." Crystal chandeliers decked out in white Christmas ornaments or bouquets of flowers. And glass cake platters with bell jar tops—thousands of them in a wide variety of colors and shapes, stacked one on top of the other— crowd her shop, aptly named "Bountiful."
She has decorated the homes of the rich and famous. I'm including a couple of shots I downloaded directly from her website:
Pamela Anderson's home
and Whoopi Goldberg's home. 
Just like this stunned gargoyle that sits atop a gate post to keep out too curious folk, you will be stunned stupid when gazing on this canal community. Once home of major hippies, Jim Morrison of the Doors, and a wide variety of artists and musicians, this neighborhood has become so upscale that many of the less renown ones have had to move out.
I never questioned how the name of Venice, California came into being, but as it happens a very rich and influential Abbot Kinney wanted to make a city of canals much like Venice, Italy.
This needs to be appreciated in person. It's a water wall. Water spills down the undulating glass tile surfaces which gleam in the bright California sunshine.
Every window in this house is an original leaded glass design. Some clear, some with elaborate designs and colors.
Not the kind my friends in Boston are experiencing, the white peaks I saw late this afternoon in South Pasadena were the peaks of tents under which I found a wide variety of fruits, vegetables and a huge assortment of tastes from many different cultures.
I had intended to take a disciplined walk around the Rose Bowl (3.3 miles) but when I arrived there some letters that were supposed to be mailed yesterday fell out of my car's visor and since it was 4:15 p.m. I figured I'd just find a mail box with a 5 p.m. pick up and go back to the Rose Bowl for my walk, but that's obviously not what happened. Here in LA mail boxes are sparse. I drove at least five miles before I found one and by then I was in South Pasadena on Mission St. Finding a parking space was another matter but I persisted. After finding the mailbox and making my way back to the car I noticed signs announcing a Farmer's Market 4-8 p.m. I followed the crowds heading there and found myself on a closed off street where at least fifty tents were pitched with lots of vendors.
Bolani vendor with lots of free samples
James invited me to taste multiple ice cream flavors
A great statue appears to be running for the Metro
A medley of three kinds of potatoes and (below) in another tent a huge medley of mushrooms
Today, I'm starting out with ice skating! and then moving on to some scenes around the lively Third Street Promenade that ends in an airy out door mall that just opened a few months ago.
Kittens ready for adoption
In our risk averse lifestyles we look at each other silently assessing. Some risk in business. Some risk in relationships. Some risk by staying locked in to "secure" jobs to avoid the risks that others see as opportunities. It's all very subjective and each of us has his/her own risk threshold. When I was out walking at Eaton Canyon right after our deluge, I saw this dad—two babes in arms—balancing his way across the rapids. I was astounded at what to me was a terrible risk. I could see the toddler heads already smashed pumpkins against the rocks when his foot could so easily slip, or so I thought as I held my breath until he made it to the other side. In my opinion, it was irresponsible foolishness to try such a feat. To him it was whatever it was, not scary. And so we take our steps day after day, never quite knowing if we are being fearless or foolish. And those are words spoken in silence by those who watch. The challenge: is to name the risk, define it—and only each one of us can do that. No one can do it for us. And then, just take the next step!
Out walking today around the Rose Bowl I saw the simple, sensual lines of this tree that stopped me in my tracks. Like the crease of flesh at the elbow, behind the knee, between the legs, this form had all the sculptural and sensual completeness of a human form with roots.
Other lines of these simple, painted planks of wood that closed off all the streets around the parade grounds in Pasadena are lying inert waiting to be retrieved and stored for the next parade.
Last night at John Lithgow's opening performance of "Stories by Heart" at the Mark Taper Forum I was reminded of how we never outgrow our hunger for stories. This is what the stage looked like before he entered to take us on a trip into the magic of the stories that played a major part in his life. Stories he knows by heart. Being in LA, the center of a storytelling culture, reminded me, too, of how we are all storytellers even if we don't realize it.
