The Lardner Report

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Take the Time

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(Pic #1) Close-up, abstraction on power box panel, Los Angeles 2012

Breathe — and discover.

For those of you who know me, you are well aware that I struggle with what airlines call “OTP” — on time performance.  The only time I arrive promptly for an event is when I make the trip with my husband — whose OTP might be just this side of OCD.

Last week I whined all the way from our home in Ventura County to West Hollywood.  Josh and I were heading out to see a Richard Lewis show at the Largo Theater on La Cienega, and he insisted we not be tardy. Experiencing an unusually low volume of  L.A. traffic, it seemed as if we were going to be hours early — which made me cranky — and I teased him about it incessantly. Until — while waiting on line — I caught a glimpse of this fantastic distressed, forgotten, power box standing at the edge of the sidewalk.

(Pic #2) Art on the outside

I stopped in my tracks.  Stunning. This clunky metal structure was covered with gorgeous weather-beaten abstractions. I took a breath and began xenical exploring and shooting with my iPhone. Zooming in on all four sides, I found these intricate rough-edged pieces, made from years of disintegrating layers of plaster, paper, glue, graffiti, and angry carvings.

Some of the photos remind me of contemporary paintings by Julian Schnabel, and some of the silkscreen combines of Robert Rauschenberg, but mostly, they revealed their own identities.

The lesson was clear: there are lovely advantages in stopping to breathe, namely being able to genuinely savor the surprise that awaits you. Had I not allowed for breathing room (even if it was forced on me) I would have lost out on these very special visual treats. You’ll see it happen all the time — and your experiences won’t be limited to utility closets or street graffiti.  Take the time, and life’s most precious moments will find you.

(Pic #3) Two small abstractions - paper, paint, paste on electrical panel.

(Pic #4) Left: Abstraction that evokes Japanese woodcut art. Right: Weathered and torn paper collage. Both images from electrical box panels.

(Pic #5) Poster paste abstraction.

 

 

Today’s Pic: The Art Of Urban Decay

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(Pic#1) Nashville sign: Finding beauty in decrepitude.

I may be obsessed, but these things just seem to find me. Driving through downtown Nashville yesterday, in a funky little section called the Melrose District, I passed a sign that truly seemed to scream at me. (Pic #1 and Pic #4) It had clearly seen better days, or maybe years, but its wear-and-tear left a gorgeous abstraction of rich browns, blacks, and  grey smudges.

I belted out a loud “STOP!” to my friend Susan, and bless her loyal soul — she hit the brakes. She didn’t understand why, but she knew I was on a mission. I bolted out of the car and grabbed the shot. She and her colleagues Sherri and Poonam might have been bumfuzzled, but were very polite about it.

(Pic #2 ) Composition of Black, Gray and Reddish by Antoni Tapies, 1968.

I saw what could have been an acrylic abstract landscape  — a really interesting composition. (Pic #1)

(Pic #3) "Vuillard's Chariot" Painting by Helen Frankenthaler 2006

It reminded me of the work of the late Spanish painter Antoni Tapies, (Pic #2) and the iconic American abstract expressionist, Helen Frankenthaler (Pic #3).

But the artist, in this case — was nature. Who knows how many rainstorms or snowfalls ravaged the roadside ad, and how many layers of paper and ink were left in their wake. I just like the idea that the elements become artists too, and we benefit from  their unpredictable, repetitive action.

(Pic #4) Deconstructing Signage

 

 

Salvaging Beauty from Destruction

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Left: Pompeo Batoni painting: “Time Orders Old Age to Destroy Beauty” (1746). Right: Wagon Wheel Motel Excavation unearths fresh art (2011). Photo by Juan Carlo Mendoza, Ventura County Star.

The demise of a local landmark reveals stunning visual treats.

In my last post, I wrote about the demolition of one of Southern California’s most recognizble roadside landmarks, the Wagon Wheel Motel on Interstate 101 in Oxnard.

Given its storied history, it hurt to watch it gradually disintegrate into a pile of splintered beams and waste. But I always try to see something anti inflammatories visually fresh in my lens. So I documented the last days of the iconic structure with the hope of creating a few canvases of abstract art.

Suddenly, the 1960 turquoise paint seemed elegant, and the property’s broken wooden fence perfectly framed the vibrating lines and textures destined for the landfill. Graffiti became a decorative touch, and cheap, crumpled window blinds gave me a new way to understand geometry.

Am I crazy?

Maybe. But delighted I got to embrace the beauty left by the storm.