Of course I could have just drove up and painted right here. It’s barely 50 feet from the parking spot. But first I had to spend an hour or two exploring the inland side of the road, scouring around the train tracks and straining unsuccessfully to find a passable goat trail up the steep eroded bluffs to gain a view looking down on this pier.
And again, I could always head out on these uncertain view-scouting missions without grabbing my 40 pound pack of gear, and just come back for it once I find a suitable view, but
instead I hauled that thing all over these dry dusty hills full of pricks and burrs in the heat of a Southern California summer, before conceding my defeat and just painting from the water’s edge instead.
Without these miscalculations and inefficiencies, what would I be? Some sort of well oiled machine?
Sounds boring. And I don’t rust in the hot tub
either.
-Entry on August 22, 2016