I found this photo on my mac today. I took it more than ten years ago, in Santa Monica, CA. I went there on a work trip, a young woman in her mid-twenties, single and hard-working. Tagged on a week in LA to a conference in Palm Springs. I couch surfed with the brothers of two friends. The first, in West Hollywood. I toured Paramount Studios and visited the Getty Museum alone, taking that tram up the hill. And buses to the tram. I attended a backyard party with a friend of a friend who was an aspiring sitcom writer. We hung out at the house of a co-star on Dharma and Greg and everyone I met was an associate producer. I do believe that friend of a friend fully expected to sleep with me, but I was naive and only realized it after I left. During that trip I was the young woman in a small group of older, accomplished women in publishing. We trekked through Joshua Tree Park with not enough water between us. Wore big straw hats bought at the information center. Drank whiskey out of tupperware in a seedy motel. Walked the beach of Venice barefoot and out of breath.
I took this photo and many others. On actual film. Washed out by the west coast sun. In awe of the pastels of California after the greys, browns, and blacks of New York. I thought there was so much time ahead of me.