CLICK HERE posted by Mona-Lia Ventress on 4/17/2001 03:22:39 PM
 "Many Peoplia Upsidedownia"It is a well know fact that New Zealand is a polar oppisite from L.A.; whereas in Los Angeles, North is cold, south is hot, in NZ North is hot and south is increasingly frigid. People drive on the left side of the street and water goes down the drain counter-clockwise. Summer here is winter there. For this reason I have posted my favorite illustration from the Edward Lear book of Nonsense, of "Many Peoplia Updisownia". This well illustrates how I project we will feel until we acclimate. There SHOULD be two dogs hanging from that tree also.
As I write, it is Sept. 14th and final countdown - we've got exactly 30 days 'till departure Oct. 14th posted by Mona-Lia Ventress on 9/14/2000 12:21:38 AM
 I just saw the movie, "Heavenly Creatures" by the director Peter Jackson who is the director of the upcoming Lord of the Rings trilogy. hiring my Partner/husband (Mark Tait Lewis) as Senior Compositor.
It's the music that excited me the most, as I found myself playing along on my melodica and realise that the main theme when the two girls murder the unlikeable mom is one of those long melodic ideas I love, and its even in my favorite key ... (B flat minor). posted by Mona-Lia Ventress on 9/11/2000 02:18:54 AM I've been mostly packing and scanning, with not much time to write, with trip tickets to NZ for Oct. 14th. Here are few more of my oil paintings. from my "dog series"
"Three Dog Night"oil on canvass by Mona-Lia"Peek-a-Pook", of my dog, Pukka when her head was still bigger than her body, and "Pukasso". posted by Mona-Lia Ventress on 8/31/2000 01:40:42 PM
"MAESTRO"Oil n Canvass by Mona-Lia
As I pack my things I find myself scanning photos of my oil paintings, which I will link to every so often.
For starters, "Cruxi-fission" and "Cruxi-schism".
SCHISM - Division to split; a formal separation or division from the church.
My very first of this Fission/Schism series started with one original painting, which I call "Angst"
Here's the L.A. Times "Tuning In to Nature's Symphony" online link (no photo online)
All the best,
To view all the photos of that field trip taken by Dan Dugan click here
Mine is a 'vanity site' so I might mention that there are 4 shots of me on the proofsheet that appears if you scroll down to the fourth row of pix.
Although we're still in limbo, things are moving forward, regarding New Zealand..
Meanwhile, Partners In Rhyme is really taking off, and we hope to have our 5th CD-ROM, this one to feature Nature Loops (what else?) on our site
for sale in the very near future.
It's already July first and today is the first opportunity I've had to take a deep breath after the exhaustive Nature Sounds Field trip I participated in. I lucked out and got my OWN tent, which was a lucky luxury, because everyone else had to double up.
My platform tent had two beds in it, so I was able to make one my "closet" and use the other make myself as cozy as possible in my sleeping bag. Lots of
buzzing mosquitos and busy spiders crawling around, but I was so exhausted the first night from the drive plus the lectures on nature sounds that I figured those bugs LIVE there, and I'm a visitor. SO I applied three coats of insect repellent and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. The only tricky part was getting ready before dawn with only a flashlight for illumination. We were awaken every morning at 4:00 a.m. and were expected to make our way to the lecture hall, equipment intact, (no easy feat given the hour, the darkness, the cold). We then caravaned to a location called Sutter Buttes (photo above) to record the sunrise chorus of wildlife.
We were encouraged to try out different microphones etc. which I took advantage of. My favorite was the parabola mike, which looks like a satellite dish but records the way a telephoto lens would, in that it has a very narrow and direct signal field, but if you point it at a directly at a specific sound source, the recording is unparalleled. This microphone is quite clunky (photos pending) but well worth it once you get the hang of it. I recorded some good bull frogs., "Dawn Chorus" day number one. On dawn chorus field trip day two I recorded an angry squirrel. who disapproved of my presence in his kingdom and told me so in no uncertain terms.
As it were, an L.A. Times photographer and journalist covered this workshop, so don't be surprised if you see a picture of me (looking froggy in my four shirts and coat) in next Sunday's L.A. Times View section, holding that big satellite mike up and outwards. It's a dramatic looking mike, and the photographer was intrigued by it.
I'll scan it and put it on my page when it comes out...
Breakfast was eaten at 8:30, as we wrapped up our recording session and equipment. Back at the campgrounds by 10 or so, we had a couple of hours to rest before 1:00 lunch and the subsequent 3 rotating workshops. My favorite of the workshops was the microphone demonstration one, although I got alot out of the other two, one which was more directed towards environmental awareness and the importance of protecting silence in the national parks, the other an intriguing project led by sound designer Jason Rainier (link later) for NPR.
I'm sure that Ushi, the L.A. Times journalist will write about all this much more eloquently than I, so I think I'm going to sign off for now...
I'm off to San Francisco for the week to participate in the Nature Sounds Society field workshop sponsored by the Oakland Museum. This year's theme is "The Art and Science of Natural Sounds".
The Nature Sounds Society is a world-wide organization whose principal purpose is to encourage the preservation,
appreciation and creative use of natural sounds.
I will be camping out by the Yuba River. in Sierra country with a mixed bag of sound designers and environmentalists. I look forward to returning with a motherlode of sounds and images to share...
Thanks -
Monumental mounds of twisted rock spilling into granite monoliths..The
spikes of the Joshua Tree jet out under jagged clouds. After a harsh, arid
and unforgiving winter the icy palms anxiously await rainfall. A burrowing
owl screeches
through the moonless night. It's keen eyes sluice the desert flora
past the spidery frozen ocotillo patch. It's cooing tones reach out to me
through the quiet. I shiver in my tent, asking the same question of the
vast desert expanse.
Right before Fairfax we pass a Jewish mosque, which lures us in with its fragrant insense-like aroma, an unusual but wonderful scent reminiscent of rosemary, eucalyptus and sage. As we meander into the main room the service begins. The room is filled with a strange yet alluring mixture of insense and Hasidic musk. There is a heavenly chorale singing the most beautiful melody you could imagine.
A charismatic and merry looking rabbi gives a stirring, elucidating and enlightened sermon on tolerance, and how alienating the word 'tolerance' itself sounds. For most people the word implies 'putting up with'. He continues with a passionate interpretation of what the word really means. He speaks with a clear, all embracing, somewhat lyrical tone that seduces our rapt audience. This rabbi would like to see the slogan 'tolerance changed to "acceptance" He quotes two great writers, great writings of Talmud and the Medrash, whose names I woke up long enough to scribble down.
He spoke of the next world which will be a world of truth, with no place or way to hide. In this world one is in control of making choices between doing good and evil. In the next world, in the absence of evil, however, we will not have this control. In this world one may have the erroneous impression that he/she is in control of everything else. One really isn’t. In the next world this will be obvious.
As much as one should be concerned with ‘Burning In Hell,’ one should really be more concerned about ‘Burning In Heaven.’
I find all this enlightening.
Mark, James and I are all three touched. This could only happen in a dream. a spiritual moment felt by three friends at once. In the lobby we are welcomed by friendly, smiling women wearing white babushka scarves. They will be giving out free sandwiches. I unwittingly go to the front of the line but no one says anything. It suddenly occurs to me that they're not just standing around to socialize - those nice people are in line. Embarrassed, I apologize and go to the tail of the line. Everyone smiles at me indulgently. I feel the message of tolerance/acceptance flowing through me like a magical lyre. When my turn finally comes I order a pastrami and swiss cheese sandwich on rye. I'm amazed that it's free. I'm surprised they have cooked food at a temple/mosque at all. I'm also taken aback by how friendly and polite the people in line are.
The music starts up - Jewish Kabala music. Mark asks me to dance. The dream fades out with Mark and me doing a slow, romantic dance to the lively Kabala music
"May I come with you?" she asks, casting furtive looks around her.
She jumps in and we drive down La Brea (route to beach). When I look over I
recognise that she is Anne Frank.
I rode my bike to the West Hollywood gay and lesbian parade today. My girlfriend, Jessica played an acoustic set at 10:00 am, so I beat the heat riding there on my bike and perched myself in a prime (V.I.P. it turns out) spot in the shade, where I remained for most of the afternoon, after enjoying her music.
It has been a tradition for the last 20 years that the gay parade is preceded by "Dykes on Bikes" but this year they changed to a more politically correct name for themselves and now they call themselves something like "Women on Motorcycles Club" or some such nondescript but acceptable sounding new name. I say, BRING BACK THE DYKES ON BIKES. Much catchier name and definitely more camp. I was disappointed overall at the paucity of audacious over-the-top floats or costumes. My favorite crewe today was the "Movement for a Guilt Free Society" which consisted of a bunch of dykes and drag queens in white face, dressed as nuns. The white faced nun-men, kept their beards, adding a touch of hilarity to an otherwise fairly somber and perfunctory parade.
Yes, it's all become much more commercial and generic this gay pride celebration, lots of politicians and policemen (albeit gay) patrolling and making sure no alcohol or illegal substances were being openly consumed. The new millennium marchers look safe and are lacking in imagination this year, but I guess when you consider the exponentially growing beurocracy involved in these West Hollywood events,
Their main concern is safety. In my opinion Gay Pride 2000 doesn't even hold a candle to the parades of the last 2 decades,
P.S. Although my husband rarely attends the Gay Parade type events, Mark is no homo-phobe; Here's a pix of him from the last West Hollywood Halloween, where we BOTH had a BLAST
In my rock and roll days I was in the recording studio with my band. We five starving musicians plus engineer ordered a pizza right before I went in to record my keyboard parts. After my "take" I plunked into the chair I always sat on. As I sank onto the cushion time froze for a moment as I watched all the ravenous faces in the room glaze at me in incredulous disbelief. I soon found out why; totally oblivious to my immediate surroundings (as alsways) I plopped down right on the steaming hot pizza! In fact, you could say I got a Pizza Ass!
POSTSCRIPT:
I sign up for an orchestra class in college but can't find my instrument, nor my way to the class. Finally, after alot of intense effort, I piece together an instrument of my own concoction, with a melodica reed, a flute body and a "recorder" last 3 notes that hook into the end of the flute.
I rush to the class, only to find that it is a BEGINNERS class, swelling with cacophony
and an instructor/conductor who is oblivious to the class, conducting away to his own inner symphony
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Today I found out some LIFE ALTERING NeWs - There is an 80% chance that I will relocate with dogs, Partners In Rhyme business and husband (in reverse order) to Wellington, New Zealand, within the next six months, a scary but ExCiTiNg prospect
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Here's a "flash fiction" piece I wrote recently ...
I am one of those people that has always had my feet planted firmly on the ground. I have never experienced extra-sensory perception and unlike most of my friends I have never seen a ghost or a UFO. I’ve never astral projected or had any out of body experiences. In fact, I’ve had absolutely no personal experiences with paranormal activity of any kind. I’ve never hallucinated. Even in my psychedelic drug days I was the one everyone counted on to always know where we were in relation to where we were going. My only contact with the ‘other world’ has been through weird dreams. Like, in the dream in which I was borne on the wings of a golden bat. I knew I was dreaming the whole time as I soared over those empty valleys.
So you can understand how shaken up I was yesterday when I saw a spectre, the memory of which still gives me the willies. I was driving east on Highway 60, headed towards the desert. My mind wandered happily along to the sound of “Meat Beat”, singing along with the chorus: “I’m stuck in 1979”. About 70 or so minutes into my drive, I encountered a traffic jam. I remained lucid. “Stuck in 1979,” I continued to chant along with the CD... Although I was in the fast lane I got a good glimpse as I passed the scene that caused the slow down. There was an overturned and badly smashed car straddled across an off ramp and it looked like there were people trapped inside. Paramedics were trying to get them out.
I was born in L.A. and was taught to never slow down for movie shoots or traffic accidents. It is bad etiquette. But what I saw almost made me jam my brakes on. I saw a big, white dog sitting on the off ramp divider. Actually, it looked like an albino wolf. It startled me because it also looked like it could be a white plaster lawn dog. What was it doing there? I slowed down for a better look. How odd for an albino wolf to be sitting there so proud at the scene of this accident. It glanced my way and stared directly at me with yellow ringed, penetrating eyes. The expression, or lack of it I should say, was startling. Bold yet devoid of feeling. This is what almost made me slam on my brakes. But the traffic was easing so I looked ahead.
When I looked back for a last glimpse there was no albino wolf!
I looked around to see if anyone else had seen it. There were police officers, paramedics, and an ambulance. This is what gives me the willies, I know this with all my heart, for some reason I had witnessed someone’s actual moment of crossing.
I continued east on Highway 60.
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This is how it looks outside, from my balcony today.
Here's the poem it inspired:
ONE BIG WHALE PULLING A TUGBOAT APART
I try to hike at least once a week and I have two hiking partners, one for the Hollywood Hills, the other for the Malibu trails. My Hollywood comerade and fellow nature lover is Aida Paveltich , whom I've also known about 25 years (or more)... We've been hiking quasi-religiously for over 3 years now.
My Malibu hiking buddy is Michelle , I'll probably later replace this photo with one of her and her "Monster" dog, Chester.dog, Chester,
Runyon Canyon, used to be the grounds of the Errol FLynn Estate, many years ago. I retain vague memories of sneaking onto the grounds as a teen with friends, tripping. I vividly remember the swimming pool, because it seemed such a shame that it was all boarded up and off limits. But we partied there nonetheless. That was over 20 years ago. Now it is a dedicated Dog Park, well maintained .
Upon entering the "dog leash" area you pass a dog poop bag dispenser from where you are expected to grab a bag or two to clean up after your dogs. There is a pathway that leads to a fork. The more popular hike is up the long an winding paved road leading first to Inspiration Point, and later to Mulholland Drive. But I choose the gravel trail leading into the official "off leash" dog area.
There is a posted sign that makes it clear that dogs may from that point on run free. I always take a steep short cut up to my first resting point, a spot where trails converge and a cement bench sits at the point for comfortable Hollywood skyline viewing.
'Elvis' the bulldog snorts by while the owner of a black Yorkshire Terrier calls out, 'MOZART! Come here girl, MOZART, explaining to me as I pass that she named her female dog Mozart because she 'looks so much like a Mozart. Don't you see it? She's MOZART!"
I lied, nodding in assent.
'Whoopee,' an out of control Airedale awkwardly tries to play with other frolicking pups, but his legs are so long that he only looks ridiculous not only to me but obviously to the other dogs, who simply ignore him. He finally finds a cohort in 'Bogie', a chow puppy who's paws fling out every which directions when she runs.
White noise hiss of passing planes, layered with spontaneous whistles, grunts, snorts, yaps; inspiring many a dog owner to to try to regain control. I notice that many dog appear to not recognize or hear their names when their masters call them, and I can't say I blame them. For many dogs, the dashing, frolicking, peeing, spinning and yapping at our beloved doggie Park is the only fun time they get.
A hapless looking weimeramer drools by at a fast clip. His master is clean cut and attractive Latina who calls out "Leo". She is huffing in her effort to keep up with him.
Dogs leap, nip, tumble and cry below like a canine soccer
team, while their masters energetically cheer them on from
the sidelines, like good parents hanging on the bleachers
while their pups and bowsers duke it out on the
playground. . Sticks, balls, dancing paws, three o'clock sun
casting oversize thin shadows, long and dramatic beneath
the towers and spires of the Hollywood horizon..
Pacific Ocean is perfectly visible today, glistening. And beyond that I see land, maybe Catalina but probably Palos Verdes.
It is a strong bursting spring, not at all subtle like some years. Since my last visit here two weeks ago there are now bursts of fluorescent parakeet green wildflowers blowing in the valley below, bordererd by electric violets, very psychedelic. From here they look like tiny pointillist meticulous bright dots, refracting the bright sun rays and swirling in he breeze. I pick up my video camera to zoom in and get a close up view of those leaping colors. I have no need or desire to actually film though, just to zoom in and focus for a moment. Get a distorted reality, so close and yet so far away...
What sounds like a bugle horn but turns out to be Beagle named Oreo. I overhear his master explain to a passerby, "his eyes look like big oreo cookies. Don't you see it?" I notice his expression looks bewildered, but I nod in agreement.
"LuLu, Blackie, Boogie" I hear someone call out right before the three bowsers appear all at once, panting in polyrhythmic meter. I am surprise to find that the dog named Lulu is a German Shepherd. I can't imagine a dog less likely to match up to it's name. I would expect a poodle or a Afghan or even a spaniel, but not a burly German Shepherd. Dogs and huffing master slip slap squish by on the gravel path.
I have good dogs. They entertain themselves without ever straying too far while I do my thing.
Pure breds pass, usually in twos.
I can hear Oreo the beagle in the canyon above. If I owned that dog I'd name him Bugle Horn .
My other dog, Chiva the big headed Churl, decides it's time to leave now, she's had her fill of fun. She communicates this by now hanging close to me, closer than necessary. She becomes protective to the point of absurdity, growling at passerby's that she earlier wagged her tail at. Silly Churl. Pukka remains content, forever well adjusted. She could easily stay another few hours to chase sticks. She looks hopefully at me.
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