LA LIGHT

Ever since I was a child my first memory was sitting in my father’s office watching the palm trees outside his window. On Barham right before it hits Cahuenga, these palm trees stood at the height so that from his window the palm fronds obscured what other views he could have had over the busy road. In this memory, the light is shining through the leaves, perhaps a sunny afternoon golden haze, while they gently swayed with the wind. My first memory was of Los Angeles light, and although it may be a false memory created by images I have seen that reconstruct into this event in my mind, I find it fitting considering I have always been fascinated with our dreamy light.

I have been lucky enough to travel but never have I seen the same lighting as Los Angeles light. It is something that at a certain time in the afternoon becomes tangible, the rays turn into thick gold when contrasted next to shadows, while gnats hang suspended in the air like sparkling bubbles in champagne. In the day it is not like the harsh light of Denver, where the intensity of the light doesn't attack your skin, but coddles you in warmth. Even in the early morning, there may be clouds or mist, ambiguous lighting questioning the reality of whether one is still dreaming. The light of Los Angeles is a particular mixture of smog, a calculable recipe of pollution. Despite the harsh truth that our special light is created by toxins, it is applicable that this land truly is like the land of the lotus eaters, incredibly alluring and beautiful, but ultimately rotting ourselves.