An Invisible Monument to Public Space Underneath Hollywood and Highland
Abstract
As I sit for a coffee, I think about the Palm Tree. The Palm in the context of Hollywood Blvd. The dark terrazzo sidewalk is more than hot, and the palm doesn’t cool it or me. Its’ bands of shadow feel like cruel jokes. The fronds sway in the wind atop a fictitious blue sky with cotton-candy clouds, transcending into a paradise.
A screech, a honk, and a putrid smell; and in an instant, that paradise slips back to the reality of consumerism and dreams deferred. Hollywood Blvd. even in the early morning, between brief moments of fascinating serenity/paradise, interrupted by boisterous noise, smells good and mainly bad. Every idea and fallacy of the American dream is present, and the dreams of fame and stardom give way to the painful reality of an empire in decay …
