Southern Sunny California

Southern California is unlike any place I've been.  It is both laid back and upscale all in one neatly packaged box sealed with an organza ribbon.  It is neither silk nor cotton, but all the materials in between.  It's like knitting with alpaca or American bison.  You don't dare knit any old thing.  You take great care to create something beautiful and everlasting.  San Diego is a painting.  Everything in it, including its vagabonds, is painted so perfectly that nothing is ever out of its place.  Skateboarders are not banned from sidewalks; they are welcomed.  A skateboard is another form of transportation here.  It appears that not even the rust on parking poles is out of place.

© Carolina Hinojosa, 2015

The artwork has become a permanent fixture as are the imported palm trees.  None are native to California.  You wouldn't know that unless you talked to a local.  Each and every palm tree is from somewhere else reminiscent of the immigrants that were brought here to adorn the cities filling them with tall prosperity.

Our Silences - Monumental Installation 
© Carolina Hinojosa, 2015

Casual strolls along the beach allow you to partake in the artwork and also to displace you from reality.  It's like knowing that catastrophe is on the horizon, but you're allowed to sit in a glass case while it all happens around you and not to you.  It opens dialogue within you.  "Our Silences" created by Rivelino, born in Jalisco, Mexico, tears open a door and a conversation that questions our idea of self-censorship and freedom of speech.  It is located within a 5 minute walk of an aircraft carrier.  Appropriately (or not) military choppers constantly fly over the area.

© Carolina Hinojosa, 2015

I'm convinced that a different sun shines on the people of California.  A cool breeze sifts through flirting with every head of hair it encounters. The seagulls fly overhead and never seem to leave droppings during their casual appearances.  Bright red trollies scatter people throughout the city where they retreat into their apartments above noodle shops and theaters.  Here life is not fast or it doesn't appear that way.   Vinyl stores are filled with over priced records and bookstores are gems you find neglected in classy outdoor malls.

© Carolina Hinojosa, 2015

We are an hour outside of Mexico and you would never know it after three days of wandering through streets, over bridges and through the Gaslamp Quarter.  It is the goody two shoes stepbrother of Austin, Texas and a very clean version of Manhattan, New York.

© Carolina Hinojosa, 2015

Don't get me wrong.  San Diego is a beautiful place to visit, but a very interesting place to ponder.  There is life here, but it feels as though each person is living in their own world and you might accidentally walk passed someone named Mike that is from Detroit who had to leave home a few short months ago because living in his neighborhood was far more dangerous than anyone of us could imagine.  Those are the stories that you accidentally miss when you walk around San Diego.  It's like living in a painting.  Beautiful to others, but crying out with stories waiting to be told, muffled in a glass menagerie.  Who will open the door and pull out a figurine unafraid to break it?  Who is going to tell those stories?