End of Spring

Anyone who has read this blog more than once should expect lapses in posting... like the one that  lasted for the past month and a half. Sorry about that. Life threw a lot of things my way, some of which I'll touch on soon. I hoping that, over the next few days, I can update you on all that's happened since I last wrote so you, my meager audience, are ready to hear about my impending adventures. For now, I'm going to leave you with some words and pictures that I especially enjoyed when I visited the LA County Museum of Art last week. They're from Los Angeles Spring, a photo book featured in the Robert Adams exhibition currently on display; I thought they worked together beautifully, and they've been a source of inspiration for this oft-displaced Californian.

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Southern California was, by the reports of those who lived there at the turn of the century, beautiful; there were live oaks on the hills, orchards across the valleys, and ornamental cypress, palms, and eucalyptus lining the roads. Even now we can almost extrapolate an Eden from what has lasted—from the architecture of old eucalyptus trunks, for example, and from the astringent perfume of the trees’ flowers as it blends with the sweetness of orange blossoms.

What citrus remain today, however, are mostly abandoned, scheduled for removal, and large eucalyptus have often been vandalized, like the hundreds west of Fontana that have been struck head high with shotgun fire.

Whether those trees that stand are reassuring is a question for a lifetime. All that is clear is the perfection of what we were given, the unworthiness of our response, and the certainty, in view of our current deprivation, that we are judged.

—R.A., 1986