Venice and the Inevitable Change
Dec. 11th, 2021 06:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zesty_pintoSo I spent the week just leaving Venice. Michelle's family having left before us, I promised to meet my aunt, so we dropped off the rental (she insisted that we didn't need it) and waited for her on the one day the arid desert climate was treated to heavy rain. Did you know that nothing outside the waiting areas of CA are designed to handle dampness? Neither did we
My aunt's place was an older house amidst modernized converted properties: the uncle's stove doesn't even have labels on the oven dial anymore. An old lemon tree grew orange-tinged fruit and precarious spikes, an elder kumquat tree that lorded over all with eternal fruit, a pomegranate tree that had just finished its bounty, and a plum tree that had completed its life.
I picked fruit and admired the art from my grandmother that littered the walls. She was a painter and she did shows. I mostly checked work while there and slept early.
A long time ago, Venice used to be an artist's community. Then like everything else, gentrification happened. We wandered through areas that were once reviled but embraced by creatives until they were cleaned up and became appealing to new money.
We got the ten cent tour of the city, including the obvious ones. I will say that Beverly Hills? It felt McMansiony. Lots of folks trying to make a big home out of limited space and while they had the resources to do more than add a single side of opulence, the size that constrained its luster also made it look tacky as a result while their pristine appearance free of any trace of smut made it feel even more unnatural.
Outside of the Hills, the manors that took up more space had more of the appearance of grandor. I took photos, mostly of architecture: I don't really want to know about Hollywood nobility but I did like to see the mingling (some argue clashing) of art-deco with modernist designs. I don't think it's something that would fly so easily in the Northeast, though Venice's conversion does make me think of how Hoboken has a similar feel in an apartment scale.
We walked along Venice Beach, saw the sunset, ate at local places, etc etc. It was a nice change. My uncle coughed along the places he took us, a rattle that never stopped, not unlike the bathroom fan that creaked with whines and the occasional screech before it found itself again. It was a reminder of his age, of this places age: he still prided himself as one of the holdouts that kept this part of CA weird and the other folks he represented were slowly waning away from time.
I'm typing this while waiting for a flight home. Another first class pampering and then we return home. Ngl I missed home. There were plenty of things I'd love to do but they require real tome to dedicate to. Next time, perhaps.
This page is a rambly mess so I'm finishing it here.
My aunt's place was an older house amidst modernized converted properties: the uncle's stove doesn't even have labels on the oven dial anymore. An old lemon tree grew orange-tinged fruit and precarious spikes, an elder kumquat tree that lorded over all with eternal fruit, a pomegranate tree that had just finished its bounty, and a plum tree that had completed its life.
I picked fruit and admired the art from my grandmother that littered the walls. She was a painter and she did shows. I mostly checked work while there and slept early.
A long time ago, Venice used to be an artist's community. Then like everything else, gentrification happened. We wandered through areas that were once reviled but embraced by creatives until they were cleaned up and became appealing to new money.
We got the ten cent tour of the city, including the obvious ones. I will say that Beverly Hills? It felt McMansiony. Lots of folks trying to make a big home out of limited space and while they had the resources to do more than add a single side of opulence, the size that constrained its luster also made it look tacky as a result while their pristine appearance free of any trace of smut made it feel even more unnatural.
Outside of the Hills, the manors that took up more space had more of the appearance of grandor. I took photos, mostly of architecture: I don't really want to know about Hollywood nobility but I did like to see the mingling (some argue clashing) of art-deco with modernist designs. I don't think it's something that would fly so easily in the Northeast, though Venice's conversion does make me think of how Hoboken has a similar feel in an apartment scale.
We walked along Venice Beach, saw the sunset, ate at local places, etc etc. It was a nice change. My uncle coughed along the places he took us, a rattle that never stopped, not unlike the bathroom fan that creaked with whines and the occasional screech before it found itself again. It was a reminder of his age, of this places age: he still prided himself as one of the holdouts that kept this part of CA weird and the other folks he represented were slowly waning away from time.
I'm typing this while waiting for a flight home. Another first class pampering and then we return home. Ngl I missed home. There were plenty of things I'd love to do but they require real tome to dedicate to. Next time, perhaps.
This page is a rambly mess so I'm finishing it here.
