Mountains, Bodies, Art

Good morning, Santa Monica

Have you been to the mountains, recently? Temescal Canyon? Skull Rock? Have you braved the eastbound freeways and gone to the *cough* big boy mountains in the San Gabriels. Just kidding. Santa Monica mountains are like, so cute. 

But let's be real. People who aren't from here don't always associate the mountains with Los Angeles, which is odd, because you see them when you fly in. You really can't miss them. And what makes them even more special? They're free. Yes, in addition to the beach, a visit to the Griffith Observatory, and just sitting on a bench by the Echo Park Lake watching beautiful, creatively dressed 20somethings walk by, the mountains are right up there with LA's best free activities.

One of the other things I love about the mountains? You find all kinds of people there. You find all ages, all races, and all gender expressions. You also find all bodies-- which is another form of diversity we often forget, especially when it comes to activities that are deemed or (god forbid, "branded") athletic in nature. As a light skinned POC (which I believe fashion agencies are now calling "ethnically ambiguous"- groan) with a wiry frame, I move through life with a significant amount of privilege. I don't often find adult clothes that fit me, but that's the worst of it. Once I discovered the boys section at thrift stores, it was pretty much smooth sailing. 

How did I get here? More importantly, why:

because the mountains, bodies, and art, are inextricably linked for me; especially now, while working on The Legend of Graham Canyon. 

A long run or hike in the mountains is a solitary, physical roller coaster. At mile 7 you might feel like the strongest person alive, at mile 10 you might feel like you're in abject misery, and at mile 14, you might suddenly feel lighter than air. Also, it's completely self-imposed-- no one asks me to do it, and with the exception of folks on the mountain, who have been known to see a stranger climbing and shout "good work!" as they pass by, no one is going to give me praise for doing it. Yet there I am, putting one foot in front of the other, because it makes me feel at home in my body, like I'm using it for what it was made. 

Equally important to note : many bodies are made for the mountains. For those able to put one foot in front of the other, there are hikes; for those that walk with aid, or are wheelchair mobile, there are still a great many overlooks and campgrounds that can be reached by car; there are several ways to be in nature... 

Yesterday, while climbing Mount Baldy with my girlfriend, we saw bodies who hadn't yet gotten their high school diploma, we saw bodies who definitely had AARP memberships, we saw legs that looked like olive garden breadsticks and legs that looked like kings hawaiian rolls... (does using bread as analog take some of the stigmas and value judgements out of body shape? or at least make the different shapes sound warm and delicious?) 

Why am I here? Again, my time in the mountains is linked with my art practice. I can walk for hours in the mountains, hoping to reach a peak and hoping not to get lost. And when I make art, I sit alone for hours, toiling on a project no one assigned, and maybe no one will see, and again, hoping not to get too lost -- to arrive at something I can show others, something visible above the morass of my other creative projects. I rearrange the same five words, I spend hours making a giant papier-maché cactus, I sometimes have fun and I sometimes feel like I'm pulling my intestines out like a ribbon, inch by inch. But I keep doing it, because it makes me feel at home in my brain, like I'm using it for what it was meant to do.

So that's me. Today. 

If you wanna talk more, come see me at the Beach House, or get at me on twitter, or instagram. 

and if you absolutely need more

have a good week, everyone

xx

analisa