LOS ANGELES, for all of its blemishes and broken dreams, is still a place full of hope. It's a place that was built by strivers, those "know how" and "can do" folks whose determination seldom dimmed -- even if their energy or opportunities sometimes did.
Growing up here, during a long long season of painful civil unrest, I saw this optimism persist in small symbolic ways. The image that sticks with me, even today, is probably to most simply part of L.A.'s wallpaper, something you wouldn't even look at twice. But for me, it locates me instantly -- tells me that I'm home; reminds me of why people worked so hard to get here and gave up so much to stay. The Cottage.
In scores of neighborhoods threaded across the basin, a very particular modest bungalow-style domicile sprouted up like a weed. They were single-family homes with postage-stamp lawns and a little piece of backyard. Often, the prouder owners ran white picket fences around them; those in for the long haul planted lush gardens of hibiscus, star jasmine, birds of paradise. The more ambitious hung hummingbird feeders from the eaves and the occasional swaying wind chime. The most quaint ones, the one's that are engraved on my memory, were painted the colors of Jordan Almonds, creamy whites or pastels -- pink, yellow, green -- and of course the brilliant "look-at-me" turquoise.
The turquoise cottage recalls a certain era -- the 50s and 60s -- and with it its promise of self-sufficency and optimism -- and of course a sense of tropical whimsy. It was the era before L.A. launched into a succession of chapters of protests, riots, white flight, rezoning, bussing -- in other words, a complete re-imagining.
Some things are better, others worse -- depending on what side of the line you stand: But one can still find vestiges of this particular piece of retro Los Angeles and the dream it promised -- stretching from the beach communities to East L.A. Someone's grandmother or great aunt or sister's mother-in-law knows all about a turquoise cottage that a friend or brother or mother used to live in. A place you would go for tea parties or stand in the sprinklers on a hot day or simply stop and smell the ocean -- its salt and coolness carried on a breeze.
images: culver city, southwest l.a., south l.a. venice, palms, photo credit: l.g.
I have long been a fan of that 'colorful house' on the block, something I became familiar with when schooling in San Francisco prior to college. The Sunset District is much like West Los Angeles, really, with it's geographical nearness to the coast, gridded out existence, and few main arteries of traffic flow. I find a lot of comfort looking at your images...something takes me back to that terra-cotta stucco house nudged between its two bland neighbors, on the corner of 37th and Taraval.
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ReplyDeleteThe tropical ease teal paint suggests actually alters my mood, bringing an air of calm over my under-nourished body. If only my breakfast were scattered with little teal beans, teal frijoles; brown rice looks so bland next to black beans.
ReplyDeletewhen i lived in sf, i somehow ended up in the sunset. a major adjustment for an angeleno -- the lingering fog, the wind off the lake AND the ocean. but i did fall in love with those houses that lined 19th. I loved taking the M and glimpsing them before we headed underground. it was like a little reminder of home -- those jordan almond pastels -- were like a ray of warmth. you're right.
ReplyDelete"teal beans!" love it.
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