Along the Arroyo

There's a perfect little spot off Via Marisol in Highland Park, called Hermon Park, not more than ten minutes from my house, with lush lawns, a busy dog park, tennis courts and Art in the Park, home of the Lalo Guerrero School of music, run by the formidable Berta Sosa, a Mt. Washington neighbor. But best of all, and something I just discovered, is a way down into the Arroyo Seco, and onto the bike path. 

(You can't access the bike path at the pedestrian bridge, as Wikipedia claims, but further north, adjacent to the dog park. Watch out, sharp curve here!)

The Arroyo Seco is a stream that starts in the Angeles National Forest, makes its way down the mountain into La Canada Flintridge and Altadena, flowing underneath the Foothill Bridge, under the Colorado Bridge, then into a concrete flood control channel along the Pasadena Freeway, flowing southeast of Mt. Washington, past Hermon, Highland Park, Montecito Heights, Cypress Park, and ending at the LA River, near Elysian Park.

Whew. That's a busy stream, for such a meager trickle once it reaches L.A. But because it runs inside this wide, concrete channel, making the stream seem even more meager, there's plenty of room for biking.

The concrete walls are gray and ugly, but the ride itself is not, as you take the graceful curves and experience another world along the Arroyo. The other day, I rode past Montecito Heights, past my own exit, off the 110 freeway, then turned around and headed north for a mile or so, emerging near the San Pascual Stables in South Pasadena. 

Along the way I kept noticing chipped off indentations in the concrete banks, things that I'd otherwise not notice, save for the fact I'd just read cartoonist Lynda Barry's Picture This, a hard-to-describe illustrated book about the creative mind. She finds images in ink spots and stains on paper (Saul Steinberg found them in fingerprints!), augmenting them just a hair to make a monkey or a buffalo or any kind of  demented animal. And here they were in the Arroyo, chips that were life size, gouges formed by wind or water, or, perhaps, weak construction. 
 
I noticed this one in particular:

What does this look like to you?

A few days later, when it was almost dark, I came back with my partner in crime, Molly. We painted in the indentations:

  

Then I went to work stenciling what I had imagined: 

Africa and the island of Tazarat, Land of the Giant Rat!

(click to make larger)

It got darker and darker and I kept adding more rats, until it became a heavy migration. I'll call this one an experiment, not yet done. Of course there's no Tazarat, except in my mind, and on the digital pages titled "Voyage to Tazarat" in my computer. Now it exists on this wall, as well.

•••

For those of you who follow my other blog, Rat's Nest Comics, here's a new one called "Woman Seeking Treatment." Enjoy.

 

Street Art on the eastside....

I've been roaming around Highland Park and Silverlake today, trying to distract myself, bumping into dancing bums and art everywhere. After today I might even say that northeast LA is the street art capital of the world.

Take this first mural, made by Sand One that I saw on the side of a building on York Ave.

 Sand One

in Highland Park

Sand One is one of the most popular street artists around in this part of town. At first I wasn't so keen on her style, but now that I know what it takes, I'm a fan. See more of her work at: www.sandoner.com.

 My favorite mural in Highland Park, Monte Vista and Ave. 52

 Transmission Shop, York Ave. Highland Park

Wheat Paste on Figueroa near Ave 34,

Cypress Park

 Spray paint by Vixz

Ave. 56 and Fig

Utility box at Tropical Icecream

 Silverlake 

(where AA meets)

Today I started to experiment with a stencil and some cans of paint. It was the only thing, besides driving around and bumping into things, I found I could do.

This last one I call Triple Ratz, or Rat Dance

(Thanks, Melanie!!)

••••

And one last one: original art made in the street, with Louise Steinman, for a performance piece called, Dog's Head Route, performed in Portland, OR, 1980.

This is not a Rat  

A Walk in the Park

Raining today, but at least it's not freezing. Poor souls/soles on the eastcoast. I'm remembering how cold would sneak right past the soles of your boots, into your long underwear, around your padded bra, under your wool scarf, and out your nose, freezing your eyelashes shut. I lived in Madison and Toronto and I know cold....but I couldn't do it again. 

Stay warm my children!

Speaking of them, after they left I took a walk in Heidelberg Park, recently home to the poster wars of my last post. Heidelberg Park reminds me of the Haleakala Crater that Barbara Kingsolver writes about in High Tide in Tucson. Bus loads of tourists come to visit the volcano, but stick to the parking lot; very few descend into its depths, which goes on for miles.

Heidelberg Park isn't exotic like that, but very few people venture beyond the street. Eighteen-acres of park sink into steep, wooded canyon. Does anyone walk into its core besides coyotes, I wonder, as I venture down the trail.

Or I should say trails. Someone's been digging them, and it ain't SMMC. Someone with a strong back, and an eye towards history. Why do I say that? Because he (and I've seen him) has built trails and walls and stairs out of brick. They remind me of the hand built stone walls, from the early 1700s, along the roads near Lexington, KY.

Whoever the trailmaker is, evidence of his love for bricks is everywhere.

Hand built stone wall in Heidelberg Park

Los Angeles Pressed Brick Co. 
founded in 1887

 (this brick, used for a stepping stone, is old!)

 

Trojan

From the open trail, I descend deep into an overhanging mesh of brambles, and surprise a clutch of doves and robins, who fly off making a racket. Is this where the coyotes—sounding in the hundreds— bed down at night?

Further on, I find something unexpected: a skateboard hanging from a rope attached to a tree, 20 ft. up. Who hung it? Not the guy who's digging the trails, he's not the skateboarding type. Must be a kid or two from the 'hood. I try swinging on the board, but fail.

 

Hanging rope in the brambles

I make my way back up and out. It's a workout; I don't see a soul. No one's here on this beautiful day, and I almost feel guilty. But not so guilty that I want the trails clogged with city folk. Let the coyotes and birds and moles enjoy this place of solitude undisturbed.

Heidelberg Park looking out over Highland Park

• •• •

Dear readers, I've just posted a new post on my comic blog, Rat's Nest Comics. I don't advertise, but if you've gotten this far, please check it out.

Poster War on the Hill

Most people wouldn't call the NE community of Mt. Washington, 10 min. from downtown LA, a suburb, but sometimes it feels like one, where nothing happens all day except people driving down the hill to work, and 9 hrs later, up again, children coming and going from school, dogs being lost and found, red-tailed hawks flying lazily overhead, moles popping through the earth like thumbs. It's quiet most of the days that aren't garbage days, or DWP days, or days gangs from HP drag race around the sharp bends on the hill. Most days nothing happens. Nothing at all.

Looking down from Mt. Washington:
Heidelberg Park, an 18-acre protected black walnut grove,

and Highland Park beyond

But that's not all days. On the leftover days that aren't dull, there's intrigue, which one wouldn't necessarily equate with the area. I'm not talking meth labs, or screaming spouses setting fire to their houses. No I'm talking about a little intrigue that's been going on on top of my hill, of which, ironically, or perhaps not so, I found myself involved.

A green sign for Heidelberg Park sits on top of the hill, and a few yards away, the Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy display case that once housed an official poster, describing the flora and fauna in the park. After a virulent wind storm a year ago, the sign fell down and the poster was destroyed. The sign was resurrected, but the display case sat empty for almost a year. 

 empty display case

One day, walking by, I noticed a sepia-hued poster with a drawing of a dirt mound, and inside, the history of "Mound Washington." The author, in perfectly articulated seriousness, explained how Mt. Washington (Mound Washington) was built on top of a garbage heap, part of the city's waste disposal system. It was no hack job; indeed, it was very professional. A few months later, the poster was gone. 

Jump 6 months ahead. 

One night, I pried open the empty display case and cleaned out the remains of the "mound" poster and wiped down the plexiglass, and that weekend, I invited some friends over to help me (cover for me) as I placed a new poster inside the display case. 

Poster

(click to enlarge)

Inside SMMC display case

My poster (which I replaced soon after with a copy) sat for perhaps a week, when, one morning, I noticed the original text had been pasted over with the "Mound Washington" text. It was again a very professional job. The same font, the same paint job as my poster, only the words were different. I'd touched a nerve when I said, "Contrary to popular belief," Mt. Washington wasn't a garbage heap. The new poster said that, "in complete accordance with popular belief, Mt. Washington is artificially, constructed from discarded materials, thus earning the nickname, Mound Washington." A poster war was on!

Of course, I had to retaliate. What caught my eye, and was most impressive, was the fictitious Hugh Washington the author said was responsible for Heidelberg Park. I responded with an expanded version, which I put in the display case over the weekend, addressing the mound issue, and stating that it was Lillian Washington, not Hugh, that was an early champion of the park, as Hugh had been crushed by a horse and carriage.

And so now I wait patiently to see how and when my opponent will strike again. He/she too has to go into the display case unseen, do the pasting, the painting, the sitting at the computer hammering out his/her cause. I expect surprises from this opponent, as I believe he/she has a superior grasp of the absurd. Naturally, I wish him/her well. If you are out there reading this, may the best Mt. Washingtonian win! 

 Waiting for my opponent

• •• •

Here is full text of posters:

Original Text:

You are looking out over beautiful Heidelberg Park, located in the northeast neighborhood of Mt. Washington. In 2003, Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy dedicated this 18-actre canyon as protected parkland. One of the finest examples of black walnut groves in Southern CA, it supports over 100 bird species, large packs of coyotes, raccoons, possums, lizards, rats, moles and other creatures living underground.

Mt. Washington sits at 940 ft. above sea level and was once part of the Rancho San Rafael, population: 15,000 sheep. Today, the area's diverse population champions natural habitat over urban expansion, protecting countless acres from futhur development. Contrary to popular belief, Mt. Washington does not sit on a mound of garbage (Mound Washington), but atop a complex geological system known as the Puente Formation of Rocks, dating back millions of years. 

Replaced "mound" text: 

Mt. Washington sits at 940 ft. above sea level and was once part of the flat, tarry expanse that divided east Los Angeles. The landscape began to transform in 1913, when scrap from the city's overburdened waste and septic disposal systems was used to stabilize the tarry surface into earth suitable for construction. And so, in complete accordance with popular belief, Mt. Washington is artificially, constructed from discarded materials, thus earning the nickname, "Mound Washington."

You are now looking over beautiful Heidelberg Park. When Construction of Mt. Washington was completed in 1917, the park was opened to much fanfare and ceremony, in hopes of convincing naysayers that the mound was now indeed suitable for residential use. In the words of the mound's original visionary Hugh Washington, "To foster their dreams, it is crucial to give children a special place; [the park] serves that purpose."


New text (inserted over weekend):

You are looking out over beautiful Heidelberg Park, which was designated a significant Juglans californica var californica (native black walnut) woodlands and protected parkland by the Santa Monica Mts Conservancy in 2003. One of the park's earliest champions, Miss Lillian Washington [1895-1977] said of the area, "[it is] the finest example of urban wildlife found anywhere west of the Arroyo Secco basin." Enjoy!

At 940 ft. above sea leavel, Mt. Washington is part of the Puente Formation, composed of plutonic, volcanic and metamorphic rocks that make up the slopes of northeast Los Angeles. Contrary to popular opinion, it was Lillian, not her husband, Gen. Hugh Washington, who laid by hand the narrow highways and byways, which brought accessibility to the area after Hugh was crushed by a horse and carriage on the dirt road known as present-day San Rafael Ave.

Yarnbombing

You might know it as "yarnbombing," or the more aggressive "yarnstorming." However you know it, it was covering York Blvd in Highland Park last week: trees, poles, utility boxes and parking meters covered in fuzzy, colorful yarn. 

utility box

utility box

parking meter 

shapely tree

Hey, there, big dog...

Considered graffiti, yarnbombing is more palatable; still it's illegal. But unlike graffiti, yarnbombing is rarely prosecutable, because it's so darn cute. I hadn't realized how popular it was —over four continents and here in LA, a collective of guerilla knitters. It was that organized crew of yarnbombers who went to town after last week's Art Soup competition for northeast artists. These yarnbombers didn't win, but it sure was fun to see their colorful work on display along drab York Blvd.

I realized I had seen this somewhere before.... oh yeah, Little Tokyo, six months ago. I wondered why the bicycle racks were covered—one wearing a sweater, the other a hand muff. 

Yarnbombing reminds me of the 60s when daisies were dropped from the sky at Woodstock— you know, a love fest, making the hard, cold objects of the world more beautiful. I wanted to get one last look at the dazzling display on York, but when I drove down there this morning, this is what I saw:

A return to normal. I'm glad I got to see it before it came down.

Full Moon

 Full moon over Highland Park

I set my camera for 15 seconds, hand-held, which produced this blurry image shot by a drunk, but I wanted to capture the full moon while it was still relatively low in the sky, so here it is, overlooking Highland Park, and beyond.


I didn't work tonight, but instead of enjoying myself, I was walking a thin line of anxiety from being at home: should I rush downtown to see a program, call a friend for a drink, run to the bookstore? My heart was pounding and I was wishing I had something to drink, when I heard a strange sound coming from my neighbor Thea's yard. I looked out the window and saw five skunks—five!— walking up from the canyon below to grab some cat food and drink from the many bowls she leaves lying about. The skunks were everywhere, like circus clowns, dashing in and out of the garage, around the yard, challenging the one stray cat that found himself literally up against a wall, and I began to wonder if there were only five— maybe 20? 

After the skunks left, I decided to go for a walk but paused on the front porch, listening to a hoot owl on the other side of the house, in my neighbor Elliot's patch of tall Eucalyptus trees. What I hadn't heard before, but heard now, was another hoot owl, further up the hill, answering the first one: "hooo hoooo hooooot," and then the answer, "Hoooooooooooo," like that, back and forth. Walking, I continued to hear them; a million crickets were singing up from Heidelberg Canyon across the way, and dogs were barking at the traffic down in Highland Park, and a siren whizzed by, and somebody was talking sternly to their dog, and an old jalopy was putt-putting down the road as though it were on its last legs. It was only 7:10, and so much activity! What had I been missing these last two years, teaching at night? It was delicious: being home, hearing these sounds.

She rides the lion—at least it's not a car

As I was trudging up the hill to my house today, I had the illogical expectation that someone would pass by and give me a ride, the same expectation I used to have as a kid of five, hoping someone in a big limousine would drive by and adopt me. It's similar to the childlike and illogical expectation I have now hoping that someone—Obama? Tony what's his name? Steven Chu?— will make the oil spill go away and the environment, the sea turtles, the birds, the marshes, be okay again.

Meanwhile, I still keep driving. But today, I walked. I headed down to Highland Park—the northeast community below Mt. Washington—because my husband's going out of town for a week with the camera and I needed to load up on pictures. I hadn't expected to walk so far—my goal was the art gallery down by the railroad tracks.

But after I got there I kept on walking and ran into a guy at the burger stand on Figueroa. His name was David, the same as my brother.

 

 David from the San Fernando Valley in Highland Park, looking for trouble?

David my brother in India, looking for Nirvana?

 (photo credit: unknown)

This David, from the Valley, was on a job; when I told him I'd put his picture on my blog, he asked, "What's that?"  He'd never heard of "blogs" or done email, and didn't know how to get around a computer. When I told him he could get a Pell grant to study computers, like at the school where I teach for instance, he scoffed; he'd learn the computer on his own, little by little, he said. It dawned on me that Highland Park, although only a few blocks from home, is another hood altogether—one where I'd be prudent to keep my illogical expectations to myself.

By the time I'd finished walking I was almost two miles out—the way back, mostly up hill. Now where's that ride? 

Some shots of Highland Park, day and night:

Ruby at Society of the Spectacle on York Ave.

The Shop at Ave. 50th and Fig

Hand display at Time Nails

Torres Barber Shop

El Takitaco parked near Food-4-Less on Fig.

(More photos are on my fb page under "Highland Park" Album)

~~~

Lately, I've been admiring those stalwart National Geographic Society photographers; you know the ones, the men and women who sit in wait for hours, days, weeks, for certain animals to show up. That's how it's been in our back yard for the past week, waiting for the baby coyotes to appear. I was beginning to think I'd hallucinated seeing two of them, and then I saw one crossing below our house at sunset: he hurried along the path, and then out of nowhere, another baby coyote came to greet him, just like that! They leapt at each other with their over-sized baby mitten paws and quickly disappeared together under the brush. Needless to say, I didn't get a picture.

Soon after, I heard a rustling in the bushes from the same direction where the first coyote had emerged...

A big fat skunk came waddling by, right under my nose, timing its sojourn just right. Fatso was on its way to Thea's, my next door neighbor, to chow down on the cat food she leaves out for the neighborhood strays (which—is it just my imagination?—have been diminishing in number). I hope the baby coyotes don't get wind of that food. Like all wild things, they'll need to stay clear of humans if they're going to survive.