Getting off the plane I was swept into the inevitable. It started with a wedding, and as I rounded the clock it brought me in a whirl that seemed to last through the nights and live within my morning coffee.
What was a sum of two weeks, gone by in a blur, as art shows and birthday parties turned into hotel pool parties, into dinners, into shows, into late night dives, then into dark houses till the morning when cars or bikes made trips to the coastal beaches to absorb some sun.
So upon leaving I returned a camera to a friend, as mine had been stolen, and wrote a little poem about shooting photos in a town called…
Oh – to these times that we live in.
That we must find a voice within youth
and freedom in expression.
As each time I get off the plane in L.A.
Things seem to be moving faster
and a little wilder than before.
And how can I show you,
but to partake and join in,
and fall in love with it all – all over again.
One love lost – another one found.
The night is but young my friends.
Let us live and be loud.