I’ve been craving remote nature. Lately, all I want to do is read, paint, and be far from civilized society, out amidst trees and rocks and open sky. Driving through the Italian, and then French, countryside last month drove this notion further out to the top layers of my brain box, and I’m not sure whether it’s a new wave of misanthropy or a side effect of summertime. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent my entire life in big cities [Moscow, Chicago, LA], and associate rural life with being a kid at my parents’ dacha, stealing raspberries from neighbor’s yards, convincing other kids I’m a space alien and use my necklace as a communication device, playing with happy, fat stray dogs, building late-night campfires. Or it could be that I’ve overdosed on culture, and am in dire need of a sabbatical. That’s probably it.
These theories are all, if course, in direct opposition with my love of shiny futurestuff, of which I’m well aware, but they can’t be helped. They’re also perfectly in tune with the Artist’s Cycle, as I understand it. I made this chart to demonstrate:
Fortunately, there are places all around LA that make for excellent day-tripping, while we decide whether we should actually move somewhere with more trees and less people in a year or two, or I figure out a financially sound way to take that sabbatical. Here are some photos from a few hours spent wandering around a big park, eating vegetarian Reuben sandwiches, reading comics, and getting dirty. There is also a panorama. You can see the Hollywood sign if you look closely.