Moving Art, Moving Me

Well, for the past few days I have been packing stuff in my apartment and getting ready to move back into my room at my parents' house for a few weeks while I get ready to head for Los Angeles. This move has been a long tine in the planning, though, to be sure, most of the action typically has occurred in my head.

A few years ago, I think three this past June, I went to LA to visit a friend, Vanessa, though it was also to have some time alone and to clear my head. I was still recovering from a sort of open heart extrication (the other L word, the Love one--that's another story for another time).

Back to the trip--I have a real problem with new things. Given that Vanessa's apartment was a few steps from Venice Beach, at the intersection of Ocean Drive and Speedway if I recall correctly, I told myself "you are the biggest chicken on the planet if you don't take advantage of this offer." So I booked the flight, made my way out west, and spent 7 days falling in a different type of love.

Something about the vibe. I didn't expect it. I expected to go, see the beach, then return home. But, the minute my feet hit the warm sand, and I heard the ocean surf, and I smelled that slightly raunchy, heady, raucous smell, I felt connected. Felt like home. Not to mention the Starry, Starry Night mural that always guided me to the right street and the right apartment.

When I returned, probably for a year I spent the days at work (mostly manual labor back then) looking into the sky whenever a plane would fly over, wondering where it was coming from and more importantly, if it was headed for LA. Movies with the beach would generate that all too infrequent rush of endorphins. The Lynda Carter Wonder Woman series came out around that time, and sure enough, the coastline of Paradise Island looked familiar...Malibu. Makes sense. I named my car Eden, partially because that was the direction I felt I was going.

I don't know what happened, I guess time, but the thought became more distant, the thought of moving there. Fears crept in. They usually do. I thought I might move back to Dallas, even though, visiting again after California, it didn't feel as right as I once thought it did.

I thought about Austin for a while. I still don't know about Austin, I visited it for the second (but first adult) time with a complete ass-hole, so perceptions are a bit warped.

Then this past June I visited San Diego then returned to LA. Things were a little different on this trip. I had a travelling companion. I was slightly exhausted as well. It was freakin' cold. Okay, not freakin' cold, it was a wee bit chilly. I wasn't expecting it, and besides, the sun kept hiding behind clouds. But the truth is, I still felt great there. I felt more secure. I wandered the streets and the almost entirely Bohemian Venice Boardwalk with no worry. It still fits. So far.

So, that's where I'm moving. I want to be happy there. I also want a better place for my art. I'm not sure exactly how to find where I need to be with that, but, there's part of the challenge.

I've often, in the past, boxed myself in. It's easy to do in West Texas, to create escapes. For example, an apartment almost overflowing with primary and secondary hued caped and uncaped crusaders in miniature, plastic hits of pure elation. (An apartment with cool decor as well, just ask around.) Hell, creating those escapes is essential to living anything close to a good, creative life here, and it is possible.

But the box has kept me limited. No matter what I put in the box, there are still defined limits, and, often in Midland, at least for me, when the Sky's the Limit is touted, I very often think the sky has an end, no matter how high, and you are (I am) limited.

Put the joint down, I'm not talking about getting high. What am I gonna do with you!?

Again the fear can keep me within those boundaries. Not that I think portions of the fear, and the self doubt, won't follow me to LA, I'm not that naive. What I think, though, is that I'll be better positioned to deal with them and use them while there. It's a sort of freedom I felt.

But if Los Angeles is not the place for me, I'll find another place, the right one. That's not a pre-emptive defeatist attitude, though. For the longest time I thought this was it, do or die, California, Los Angeles, the ocean and me, and if I failed (whatever failure is, I don't even know in this case) I'd have to jump off the pier and feed the fishies.

Nah. I like Aquaman but I can't breathe underwater, and breathing is good. :)

That's why all the tiny plastic heroes and villains are currently boxed and ready to go. We are temporarily trading places, they in the box, me out of the box.

Oh, but it's not temporary. They'll be out soon enough, in a new space, then maybe a newer, sunnier space. As for me, no matter where "outside the box" takes me, I'm not going to climb back inside.

Now, as a bonus, Becky gave me permission to post Sarah's picture, so, here she is cutting out paper dolls...

Sarah cuts out Jack, I think. I believe she chose one of the smaller pages to cut, always up for a challenge, and so talented, that one is. I can't remember which of the beautiful Freeman-Zachery cats is in her lap.