Silicon Beach: Resurrection of the Artist as Hero

This one is a little weird to me after some time has past. I actually have to convince myself that I wrote it. Not all of it makes sense. I was really obsessed with Silicon Beach and then I wasn’t…

Silicon Beach has arrived in Venice. That is a fact. We cannot do the usual sticking our heads in the sand and flipping it the bird and make it go away. No. There is not enough graffiti in the world to cover it up. Silicon Beach is here to stay and it will continue to grow.

But, I am not afraid. Not yet, anyway. Here is why.

The Venice Creative Community could drive the winds on homelessness, diversity and other important social issues, which are coming to a head. This gives me tremendous comfort. Artists are extremely powerful. Now more then ever, they need to know it. They need to be organized and they need to hold the tech community accountable to its promise to merge with LOCAL talent. They need to feel as if they are vital in what is a life and death struggle.

There is a reason why all the crazy elements of Venice Beach result in such amazing creativity. Defining that reason, well good luck. All I can say is that our fucked up magic works, most of the time. The homeless are part of the drama, part of the struggle, part of the extremes from which artists draw. Not to mention, a lot of young artists, poets and musicians come here and do time on the street.

Once we decide we want the homeless out, who is next? We chip away at our own souls and then we can’t create. The art dries up, the music stops and the whole reason tech came here in the first place is a bust. We all lose, but boy doesn’t the Old ‘Hood look awful shiny for a little while.

And, of course, even if those who want to keep Free Venice get our way, we still have HUGE homeless problems to solve. We have to at least try to help others understand, with patience and grace, for it is we who are the host. We need our hearts and there is not a lot of reason. We just need them.

We live in a country where we have lost so much culture and beauty. We have lost our ability to come together in love, though we can unite in anger and outrage. It is like we all are so worried about when we’re each going to get our own fifteen minutes, we can’t fully celebrate someone else in the height of his or her glory.

I see it, even in Venice, when there is too much competition between so many artists clamoring for attention. I go to an opening where a brilliant musician shyly provides ambience, apologizing for being in a room, when he or she should be surrounded by attuned open hearts. I see some festivals with lower attendance and less making merry than I would expect from wild Bohemians…

Tech possesses enough of a soul to know we have something they need. They just don’t quite know what it is. Or, if they know what it is, they don’t get why we have it and they don’t. I think some of them believe they can hover nearby and pick it up osmosis style. Or, absorb it from our bones as they suffocate Free Venice and make what remains into what they think they want. Some of them want to be us and let go into the freedom we know.

That’s why we have to own who we are, in a way that brings us together, in a way that flares the fire in our bellies into a collective pyre. And yes, that includes the tech folks. It is NOT about losing our individualism. It is about building a solid infrastructure inside which all our individualism is safe for generations to come.

Whether or not anyone wants to hear this, in these parts, Free Venice is the establishment. It has shifted from the counter culture to the local mainstream, simply as a result of time. Free Venice has remained true to its core values and endured. This is one reason why, energetically, Google can be an ally: The shared understanding of what it means to endure and, more importantly, to continue to endure.

The old paradigms don’t work the same. Like Terrorism is an elusive enemy, identifying “the Man” in these modern times is often tricky. While we’re all distracted by the friendly Google giant, who is not really interested in eating our babies, some of these lone wolves (who don’t get us) are munching on our goats in the middle of the night. That is not to say that a friendly giant can’t still be clumsy…

Under the old rules, it seemed more natural to worry about the establishment and embrace the rogue. That now has to be done on a case by case basis. Due diligence is a necessary bitch. Thank God, we have Occupy. We will need help communicating.

The thing about Google – they have an international reputation to maintain. They don’t want to be seen as the company that came to Venice Beach and destroyed diversity, creativity and art. They want to support those things in our community that both work and give them a shiny image. There’s actually quite a bit on which to draw. We need to think, carefully, as a community how to leverage such power. How do we use this new kid on the block (who wants to make nice with the neighbors), to our greatest advantage?

Well, Google offered a diversity pamphlet at the Town Hall entitled The Black Community at Google. Oh, gee, by chance we have a bit of a struggling Black Community in Venice. Why don’t we get some stronger outreach? See if we can get some folks qualified for entry level tech jobs and the anticipated supporting industries. See if we can identify potential local entrepreneurs. Maybe our young startups can help with a little mentoring. Raise the income, knowledge base and resources for people already in the neighborhood and we curb the loss of diversity. We anticipate and use our creativity to prepare.

For that, we need leadership within the community. Calls to action are so important. Answering those calls that speak to your soul are even more important. We need focus. We need archetypes. We need vision. We need good followers. We need inspiration. We need music. We need hope. And, as anything that has lasted and will continue to last, we need change.

We need to figure out how to celebrate all that has endured about Free Venice in the today. We need to be honest about who we are, even if some of what we are isn’t terribly pretty. We need to own our story. Whether we have been good or bad, we sure in the hell have been interesting. We need a healthy sense of humor about ourselves and others. We need to let go of those things that no longer work, even if they were important to us in the past. And on some days, after we have worked really hard, we need to let EVERYTHING go.

Like it or not, we have to decide now if the Free Venice Culture is playing itself out, in the final stages of one hell of a run; or, is there an essence, a heart beat, a philosophy, blood, guts, eyes, a voice that will endure because arthritic hands have been replaced by fresh ones, tired feet just got some shiny new shoes, and a very old soul suddenly found itself inside a young body? To speak in Modern Tech: How do we define our brand so that it is embraceable, impenetrable, open to growth and, because we all have to eat, marketable?

For our creative community, that is the task at hand. As tech rains down, you must build the ark that can hold us all. Artists are the heroes lying in wait. We can set an example for the entire world. We can start the future with love.

And if the ship fucking sinks, we go down in one glorious party…To live who we are without fear, that sounds like win-win to me…

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Weeding the Garden of Dark and Light

Last week, I took my first morning visit on Ocean Front Walk, since the LAPD has begun enforcing the new curfew, which bans folks off Beach and Boardwalk from midnight to 5am…The giant fluffball on my left, we strolled through a different world…Sans camps of transients between shops and shore, the Pacific seemed more present. And, like everything that is Venice, I found myself with dichotomized feelings.

On the one hand, how sad, all those people – just gone. Where did they go? What happened to the nebulous communities? Could our citizen wanderers still gather elsewhere? Or, were they all on their own? What about their animals?

A slight young man in a black wool coat approached, and asked if he could pet the dog. Of course, I allowed it. He murmured about being there to buy something, but I didn’t quite understand him. I assumed he was looking for drugs or other black market goods, available on the West Edge of Venice Beach. A bit bewildered, the young man – thin, raven-haired and kind of handsome – mumbled, “I couldn’t find anyone.”

“Oh honey,” realizing he must have been absent, as had I, “They enforce the curfew now. They run people off at night.”

“I been in jail. I didn’t know where everyone was.”

“From midnight to 5am, they have to find somewhere else to go.”

That was a little tough. A homeless guy finishes his jail time. He has been out of touch. He probably hadn’t had any visitors. He goes to his community – which for him, was this broken beach umbrella and blanket village – where he expects to find at least a few of the people he called friends – especially at six in the morning, when everyone should be planted in their spot, fast asleep…

Wishing the soft spoken, ex-con well, I moved from Sunset to Windward, basking in a widespread tranquility, which I had never previously experienced at that location. Granted, I was walking this dog much earlier than usual, but I’d been in the area at sunrise before. There was ALWAYS something going on – a strange, perpetual liveliness, not terribly alive.

Post curfew regulations, the peace rolling in from the ocean was astonishing…the solemn quiet, the waves whispering…I never thought the Boardwalk could feel that way, even so very early in the day.

Those poor homeless people, when they are sleeping, many of them still have a lot of troubled energy. That energy lay between the property tax and rent paying residents and the Lullaby of Mother Earth every single night. With the frenetic daytime activity that is inevitable, because the Ocean Front Walk economy caters to tourism, it would be nice to have a more pure serenity in those wee hours.

One could argue, I suppose, if many of the homeless are, in fact, troubled, they need that serenity washing through them more than anyone – even if it can’t bring their minds (often weak from hunger and too many chemicals) all the way to calm.

I think that it is not my battle or my choice. I do not know how to feel. People should be warm and safe and peaceful, as they sleep at night.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise except as permitted under Sections 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without either the prior written permission of the Publisher, or authorization through payment of the appropriate per-copy fee.

A Change is Gonna Come…

On a recent morning, strolling to a convenient Starbucks, I took a route around the back side of the Costco/Albertson Compound (which actually lies on a strange little tract of land Venice apparently annexed to Culver City). Along the way, I spotted this kind of rickshaw-wagon bicycle parked on the side of the road. It was filled with food and blankets, a lot of stuff I couldn’t see in the dark, with a baby guitar strapped to the top. There was a man asleep inside. A hand scrawled sign hung on the back of the pedal powered mobile home, “Do Not Disturb.”

Though present all over Venice, Ocean Front Walk is a particular haven for the homeless. Why not? It is beautiful; and, the constant flow of tourists give them some prime scavenging territory at the very least. Even for the Boardwalk, however, the transient population has become rather dense in the last couple of years.

Because of a lack of regulation several problems have cropped up along the Boardwalk that the City and Community feel the need to address. Typical to Venice, there are a lot of strong opinions and a lot of disagreement. For the time being, the City will be enforcing two new regulations along Ocean Front Walk. Both laws impact the homeless community, with one targeting them directly.

The first regulation addresses the West Side of Ocean Front Walk and is specifically written to curb commercial vending. It regulates what goods may be sold in the numbered spots, where all the temporary vendors set up each day. The law has been written so that people may only sell certain, primarily self-produced, goods, i.e. art that they have created themselves.

As we learned from the fiasco a few years ago on Wallstreet, a little regulation can be a very good thing. Councilman Rosendahl pointed out that it is certainly unfair to the permanent vendors on the East Side of Ocean Front Walk (who pay taxes), to have their business negatively impacted by people who don’t play by the same rules. Of course, the fighting among homeless and transients (who are often paid to hold spaces for vendors) has to stop. I have witnessed those arguments. They can be vicious and easily turn to physical violence. Finally, I don’t want a Venice Beach that is known for endless prints of Marilyn Monroe in gangsta gear and T-shirts with Charlie Sheen flipping us all off. If this is an artists’ community, then what we represent to the outside world needs to reflect that.

The down side, of course, marginally surviving people who are the go-betweens for posters, clothes – and whatever else comes in from outside – are pushed even farther down the food chain. There is an incense guy who has been a staple there for over twenty years. Under the new rules, he’s out. Then, you have jewelry makers – much working in a style from their native countries – despite concerns raised, they are out.

The regulations aren’t perfect. They never are. We have to ask ourselves, what happens to all those people who just lost their livelihood?

The second regulation recently coming into enforcement has caused an even bigger stir. The City of LA is calling on a law, which has long been on the books, that defines not only Venice Beach (the actual beach), but Ocean Front Walk, as a park. Therefore, it can be closed at midnight and people cited and arrested for curfew violations.

Due to the perpetually unruly Boardwalk, many residents welcome the enforcement. On the other hand, there are questions about whether or not residents may use their front doors when they are coming home late; if folks walking from bars to home, can use the somewhat well lit Ocean Front Walk, or, will be forced to skulk down Speedway, a dark, narrow alley. All that, I assume will get resolved.

The larger issue is how these new regulations, these big changes, really jibe with the long enduring Spirit of Free Venice, an idea which may be on the decline. The die-hards are dwindling in number and are an aging demographic. It is not to say they don’t have power and are not yet quite vocal and significant. But what is the Spirit of Free Venice in this day and age?

Many young professionals of Venice – even some of the artists – seem a different breed. An entertainment industry attitude has permeated certain parts of the community. There are some things that are more about the “scene” than the art. The seediness is much less tolerated than it has been in past decades. New Venetians seem to want things a little more sanitized, nicer for their families and visiting friends. Google’s presence will only reinforce that.

A community’s fear from recent shootings and increasing night-time violence aids the City in seizing an opportunity. Crime is bad for all of us, that is true. Crime is bad for tourist bucks, as is too much of an unsavory element. We are seeing an open effort to eliminate the transient population that springs up in blanket villages all along the Boardwalk every night. These hut towns are comprised of the local, perpetual homeless along with young men and women who are passing through, or are poor and stuck and have nowhere else to go. In the mornings, guitar music and pot smoke wafts from each “camp” whether made up of young or old. Many of these mini-tribes include a pooch or two.

With an increase in the homeless population, there is an increase in the number of mentally ill and people who have serious health problems. Because of other common aspects of Boardwalk culture, drug abuse pervades. Though most of the transients are essentially harmless, a few are a danger to themselves and others. But, if kicked off Ocean Front Walk, where are these people going to go?

If you are not already aware of this, Venice Beach has, so long been a neighborhood known for both the number and tolerance of its homeless, that it was the subject of a South Park parody. When all the homeless started showing up in South Park, it was because they had been kicked out of Venice Beach. When I first moved here, I was struck by how many homeless people lived in the park by the library.

I also used to be amazed at how many campers were parked all over Venice. Five years ago, I would ride my bike around the neighborhood, early on Saturday mornings, and spot old run down RV after old run down RV. After a little while, I got used to it. More than once, I made conversation with a friendly face inside; though, I confess some camper folk seemed a little scary and I crossed streets to avoid them.

Now, you hardly see campers at all. Parking for them is strictly regulated. Even though the rules were not changed without a fight, too many people got tired of the sight of the dilapidated recreational vehicles turned homes and the resulting parking issues.

So, we got rid of our campers. Now, we get rid of our homeless. We run off young transients and hustlers and bums. We get rid of our flea market vendors. We preserve artistic integrity along the West Side of the Boardwalk and support the tax paying merchants on the East Side. We keep tourists and locals safe.

All goes as planned. Shops are doing well. Artists sell a little more art. It’s a little cleaner. Crime goes down. Property values go up. We have more money for schools and well maintained streets. There’s a little rougher part of Venice to the north, bordered by Rose, Oakwood and California. Some poorer folks up there start getting property taxed out of their homes as more developments move in…

In these tough times, we all have to look at that underbelly and be honest about what it is. Of course, we have to save the beast. Even though it may be unrealistic, how do we all make it through?

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise except as permitted under Sections 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without either the prior written permission of the Publisher, or authorization through payment of the appropriate per-copy fee.

Of Homeless and Hustlers

Meandering around the Venice Art Crawl on their one year anniversary last August, I didn’t feel particularly keen to look at art. It was a little too much of a happening that night for my mood – too many hipsters packed into Erwin and the Old Gas Station. So, I wandered back roads and walk streets in the area for a bit.

Appearing around a dark corner a tall, homeless man with a backpack and quite a pungent odor, offered trail mix from a paper sack out of which he was munching. “Hi,” was all he said as he tilted the bag in my direction and smiled. Part of me, didn’t want to take it for health reasons, but I ultimately could not refuse. So many marginal folks living along the Boardwalk rely on the kindness of strangers. It seemed selfish to break the circle.

Several weeks before, while walking one of my client’s dogs on Ocean Front Walk, a young transient couple stopped me. The too skinny, white kids were remarkably clean cut, considering. The girl, a pretty blonde, begged, “I need some money to get an abortion. Can you help me out?” Wow. I had panhandlers request money for many reasons, but this was a first. When walking dogs, I carry keys, my cell and poop bags, so I had nothing to give.

Once I explained, she clung to the fluffy white pooch for quite awhile, enveloping him in a full embrace, as if she were never letting go. Thankfully, he is a good dog – gentle and patient. He stood very still and stared at me with his golden tan eyes. I smiled and patted his head to reassure. The boyfriend, a seemingly compassionate young man in way over his head, finally coaxed the frightened and confused girl off the dog, “The lady has to go. I can see she is a good person. If she had anything, she would give it to you.”

Later in the year, me and the same fluff ball were on the Boardwalk again for our morning walk. This guy, with a guitar slung over his shoulder, came up to us.  Open and jovial, I was leery of him nonetheless. In a calf-length black coat, his long dark hair was matted and oily. A thick skin with large pores reflected a hard life of substance abuse. He reeked of alcohol.

Hurried searches of the pockets inside his coat culminated in the presentation of a plastic hairbrush, “He is so pretty, you gotta let me brush him, Mommy.” What could I do? He started grooming before I could answer.

At first, the dog didn’t seem to like it. The brushing was a bit awkward, catching and pulling matted clumps of fur. I got a little nervous, but he finally settled into the spontaneous pampering that became smoother with each stroke. And, I will say that my new Boardwalk friend did a pretty thorough job.

“That will be $2.50,” he informed me, grinning while he pulled white fur out of what was presumably his personal hairbrush.

Not keen to pay him for something I hadn’t wanted him to do in the first place, I could honestly say I had no money.  ”I’ll catch you next time, Mommy,” he said, then pushed a hug on me. I accepted good-naturedly because, in Venice, these things happen.

Encounters with Ocean Front Homeless are not all amiable. I can’t forget the zoned out guy staring at the fluff ball as we went by, sinisterly declaring he wanted “to fuck that dog!” Or, the angry transient going past on an old bike, who took a dislike to me for no apparent reason. After I wouldn’t accept his berating quietly, he shouted at my back as I walked away, “You are too confident, cunt! Too fucking confident!” I wish I could say that I handled all that well, but the name calling may have been provoked by my middle finger.

Toward the end of summer, late on a Sunday morning, I put on a sundress and went for a morning stroll along the shore. On this day, an old beach rat called out as I passed by between him and the ocean.  ”At times like these, I wish I was on one of those nude beaches in Europe.”

When I caught his eye, he laughed and told me that I was beautiful and it was just wishful thinking. His young beach rat companion joined our conversation. We chatted about how they had been run off the beach the night before and how there seemed to be a bit of a crackdown as of late. “The cops broke up the drum circle,” the old man lamented, “They’ve been doing that circle forever. I can’t believe that shit!”

Saying our goodbyes, the older man touched my feet in a strange and reverent way almost sending me tripping down to the shore along the steep bank. We all hugged (they smelled of sand and saltwater) and shared a moment that was truly Venice Beach.

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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise except as permitted under Sections 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without either the prior written permission of the Publisher, or authorization through payment of the appropriate per-copy fee.