A mile East from Hancock Park, The Gaylord Apartments stand high above a downtrodden stretch Wilshire Boulevard. When the building first opened as a posh, Art Deco hotel in 1924, Mid-Wilshire was an affluent and fashionable part of Los Angeles.
Today, the former glory of the building has faded into a glamorous bohemianism. Plaster cracks from my apartment walls, and the ceiling is peeling off. Thick layers of dust quickly accumulate on every surface.
Vitrines in the lobby showcase photos of the buildingβs original residentsβ actresses, socialites and debutantes. Their lives played out here as mine has, in small dramas and happinesses that change with each season.
The restlessness of youth settles into a contented maturity. Acquaintances become friends. Lovers become strangers. Moments turn into memories. Eternity can only be glimpsed in those things that are most ephemeral.
A cloudscape on the horizon, a flower in bloom, the subtle change of light through an apartment window, the smell of jasmine in the night, the expression on a friendβs face or the favorite outfits that they wearβ these ephemera of the day-to-day are the threads of memory that become woven into the fabric of a life. And as we are born, live, and die, the sun shines in Los Angeles through it all.
Snapshots and sentimental thoughts in @sosmegazine@gaylordstudio
