Monday, March 28, 2005

I took some medicine today--a random excursion into downtown L.A.. I found myself smiling as I passed between the tall buildings, some ornate, some plain, some standing there like old pilgrims, dreary looks on their facades while clusters of pedestrians clung to the thin cracked sidewalks at their feet.
A pleasant surprise--the Walt Disney Concert Hall stretched her curving form like a metallic contortionist on the corner of 1st and Grand, a treasure in the crowded streets. I hadn't known I was headed towards the building, and had actually never seen it in person before; now she seemingly billowed between the straight edged streets and edifices.
After rubbernecking as I drove past, I reluctantly followed the streets back east. At the apex of an arching overpass, the lights amid darkness below winked at me like a field of flourescent flowers. I remember thinking vaguely, "That's where all the stars went."
All the while, Sounds Eclectic was playing on my radio, a soundtrack to my drive. I found myself thinking of my brother, out in the wide open spaces of South Dakota, and how the music had changed shape when I had visited there for his wedding; the songs seemed to take on new tunes. Music is a lot like Gehry's concert hall: free of form, full of vivacity, filling the spaces between buildings and over open fields as needed; and always, always lending a little room to breathe wherever we find ourselves.
With the illuminated downtown buildings in my rearview mirror, I rolled down my window and inhaled the cool night air, my dose until the next time done.

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