Since moving to Los Angeles in 2006, Rob and I have moved house too many times. Nearly once a year in fact. It wasn't necessarily our intention, it just happened that way. Last November we relocated to Echo Park. The apartment is tiny and has no space for me to use as a studio (one of the reasons I started learning pottery - a way to make things without requiring a workspace of my own). Thankfully an entire wall of the living room is glass and looks over Elysian Park so the space doesn't feel as tiny as it actually is.
My neighborhood isn't particularly beautiful except for the expansive park where I have the pleasure of walking my dog. The other day I walked her as the sun was going down. It wasn't the first time that I noticed the trees that line our usual route - they tend to be noticeably dramatic and expressive. Against a setting sky, even more so. The dark branches extend like inky fingers. I thought of Radiohead's song Treefingers from Kid A. For a while I listened to this track incessantly. It describes a deep blue primordial space with pools of light emerging like nebulae.
The treefingers seem particularly fitting on this, the first evening of autumn. I am grateful to Rosie (the dog) for being patient with me while I stop repetitively to take pictures.
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