The Big
Black Harley got a clean bill of health after its 5000 mile service,
so I packed the camera bag this weekend and headed out to follow the
front wheel. The weather was gorgeous and the light was just right
for b&w shooting, with high clouds diffusing the sun's rays making
the visible world ripe with soft shadows and subtle tonal
gradations. About ten minutes out, while heading south on US 101,
the day's destination came clearly to mind. The Getty
Center.
After
riding past it a couple of times last weekend on brief photo
safari to San Pedro and the Port of Los Angeles, I was primed for
another visit to this spectacular museum in the hills. There is no
admission charge, although it will cost you five dollars to park -- if you come
in a car. If you come on a Big Black Harley it's free. And
you get the best parking spot, right in close, closer even than the
handicapped spots. It's a beautiful thing.
The thing
about the Getty is the architecture. There's art in the buildings
but it seems almost secondary. It was the first time I'd been
there alone, and without the distraction of child herding or family mood
management I was free to lurk and lie in wait for humans and stone and
light to coalesce into just the compositions I hoped might
arise. With sightlines so designed, with travertine and steel
bringing out a Mandelbrot set of surprises, it's not hard to make a
pretty picture. And that's what most of the visitors with cameras
are doing -- either handing their Nikons to strangers to take pictures
that prove they were there, or moving in close on a flower.
Panoramas are popular too.
The thing
about elegant architecture, or taking pictures of it and in it, is that
one can't help but feel it's been seen before, that the picture in your
viewfinder is a rerun. I'll pick an angle and suspect that the
same damn angle can be found drawn out in ink on the third floor in
building six on blueprint 3983W elevation 3b.
This is
why humans are so delightfully useful. They move about, stand
around, and unconsciously juxtapose themselves into the most wonderful
configurations to make a synthesis of logic and chaos.
*****
I
cannot use the words logic and chaos without mentioning Amy.
Her latest quest or, more precisely, obsession, is the acquisition of a
wheelchair. As with the crutches she purchased a few months ago,
she is saving up her allowance for a wheelchair which she has somehow
convinced herself she cannot do without. She has absolutely no
need for one other than the desire to play with hospital
equipment. I'm torn between teaching her the lesson that money
should not be squandered and the lesson that she is free to do whatever
she pleases with money that is rightfully hers.
Whenever
we visit the local pharmacy to refill one of her prescriptions she
lingers all dreamy-eyed near the new and used wheelchairs for
sale. This evening I had her sit in one and try it out, thinking
maybe it might discourage her. See, here's the problem. Her
CP is of the hemiplegic variety, as opposed to the paraplegic or
quadriplegic sort. In her case, her right side is spastic and
hypertonic. She has very little use of her right arm and
hand. To make a wheelchair go straight one's hands must work in
concert. Amy's hands do not, so she was basically just swerving
off into the shelves every time she tried to get it going. I
couldn't really pinpoint the cause of her dramatic disappointment about
this; was she at last realizing the depth of her overall debilitation,
or was she broken-hearted over the possibility of not getting a
wheelchair? For whatever reason, tears came. I felt
terrible. She really wants this thing. She scours the
classifieds. Viv has called the thrift shops. Earlier this
year, when confronted by their big price tags, she hung her head
pitifully and murmured, "Maybe Santa will bring me a wheelchair
this year. I've been pretty good."
God bless
us, everyone. Sheesh. She really knows how to put the scroo
into Scrooge.
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