'The artist and the lover are always out of step with his or her time.' - Orson Welles
Through the oft' romantic traffic of Laurel Canyon, on the corner of Clark and Hilldale, promised a tale woven of the love supreme; a story written in a once lonely place where a cactus tree bloomed like a wildflower. Nestled amidst the rugged hills of the motherland, and across the mean streets of the city, two wandering spirits converged, intertwined, and ultimately found solace in its winding streets and towering pines.
Perhaps it was the sense of long-awaited actuality that hung in the air like incense, mingling with the scent of spring wildflowers and causeless rebellion. Here, boundaries blurred, and conventions dissipated, giving birth to a vibrant tapestry of sound, vision, and soul; a divine symphony of common spaces, people, and lucid dreams.
In its narrow winding roads and hidden alcoves, a sense of proposition flourished, binding together two kindred spirits in a quest for truth, beauty, spirit, and soul. Here, the lines between odyessy and oracle blurred, and the asphalt world faded into the foreground, leaving only the raw, singular essence of a once forgotten human experience. Though time forever marched on, the song remained the same - the spirit of an eternal love lingering in the whispering winds that still bring forth the day.
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Let's get lost behind the forbidden door of Baijiu's treasured Little Hong Kong, as we return to the heart of Laurel Canyon and the long forgotten summer of love. Here, on the eve of the summer solstice, we will celebrate the divine engagement of Ms. Kree-Dawn Buffalo and Mr. Robert Brennan Hart. Maybe the people would be the times.
