Standing Rock, North Dakota

dave-standing-rock

Dear Friends in the Los Angeles area,
On November 16, 2016 I will be leaving Los Angeles for Standing Rock, North Dakota to document (video and still images) the protest of the North Dakota Access Pipeline. I will check in with the Tribal Council in Fort Yates, ND and drop off donated goods. If you would like to donate items for the people of the Sioux Nation let me know I am happy to take them with me. Beyond my cameras and audio gear the space in my Kia Sorento is limited but I do have a roof rack. If by chance you have extra 9volts batteries, AA batteries and AAA batteries I could sure use them for the production. 
Thank you all for your support. – Dave Banks

Life in the City of Angels: Satanas Winds, You Old Devil You

satanas-winds-7

When heaven and purgatory collide over the Great Basin of California and Nevada, the upper atmospheric pressure is so great that cold air begins to sink violently downslope compressing with the warm air. The temperature rises, the relative humidity drops and birth is given to the Satanas winds. As Satanas exhales across the barren land an invisible assault of unpredictable chaos ensues.

Now unleashed beneath a sun splash sky the searing dry winds descent upon the Southland. It is the “Season of Suicide’ as the onrush is channeled through the passes and canyons that surround the City of Angels. Descending pass the sage, red willows and prickly pear the veiled breath of the devil sears the stems, exposed roots and unfolding blooms. Parched ravines become arteries of frenetic winds fraught with sweltering heat and are escorted with manic depression and bizarre behavior to the lost souls below. The mind-altering impact on some unwitting citizens can be explained away with the alibi, “the devil made me do it”.

The winds create turbulence manifesting vertical wind shear, which litters the sky with plastic grocery bags, splintered Styrofoam and showering pieces of debris. The decibels intensifies, mixing the wailing of the protagonist with the sounds of dismembered trees and wind gust that sound as if vast swarms of locust have arrived. A spark spawns Dante’s purgatory in paradise; sirens resonate across the Southland as the atmosphere is flushed with crimson and ash. The vast canvas of the Southland is painted with a dry brush of heat, valley fever and paranoia as the Satanas takes to the red carpet in the city of Angels.

  • The hot easterly wind is properly and historically called: SANTANA, not Santa Ana! Sailors have a phrase, “Beware the devil wind Santana.” Refer to two years before The Mast, published in 1840, by Richard Henry Dana Jr. The original spelling of the of name of the winds is unclear, not to mention the origin. Although the winds have been commonly called Santa Ana Winds or Santa Anas, many argue that the original name is Santana Winds or Santanas. Both versions of the name have been used. The name Santana Winds is said to be traced to Spanish California when the winds were called Devil Winds due to their heat.The origin of Santa Ana Winds with an Associated Press correspondent stationed in Santa Ana who mistakenly began using Santa Ana Winds instead of Santana Winds in a 1901 dispatch.

Life in the City of Angels: Old Hollywood

Lady in WaitingSitting here in La, La, Land I can see how you would believe that a gluten free diet and drinking green veggie smoothes is the answer to all your worldly woes. It’s a lie sweetheart, what really works in this world is a pack of Marlboro red, a cup of coffee and a buttermilk donut. Listen sunshine, there is no guarantees in life, this is it, this is all you get. Honey, you and I are living in a temporary parking lot between Nativity Lane and Sunset Boulevard.

Life in the City of Angels: Now Playing L.A. Film Festival

L.A. Film Festival

We are the little people, faceless and sad, we accumulate at a bus stop near Sunset and Sad, as you can see we wait for a bus that will never drew near. We are surrounded by the artificial glitter of the Stars, which provides the illusion of certain happiness which seem more real than where we are. We see the failed sitcom stars and the whole fragile scene as the dumpsters are filled with broken dreams. 

Life in the City of Angels: Trill and L.A. Kool

L. A. Kool

The street… Hollywood Boulevard swarms with consumers in shorts, shorts, flip flops and cameras,

“Oh look it’s Boyz II Men star! Where’s the Biebs star?” The young girl wearing leopard skin leggings ask.

Nearby a panhandling broken man with a yellow stained beard shouts,

“Hey! Ain’t no fun when the rabbit got’s the gun” his words sing.

He waves at a woman of the one percent in a Bentley,

“She’s got hairpoo and shinny shins I bet”, his song continues.

Near the corner of McCadden Place and the Boulevard, outside a darken bookstore old school meets new schools. Kool-Aid drinker’s in blue woofing tickets to a falsetto religion.

“Hey man! What did one shepherd say to the other shepherd? Let’s get the flock out of here!”

They’re not amused with furrowed brows as the broken man with the yellow beard passes by.

Sauntering, shuffling along without stepping on a crack… “don’t break your mothers back” he mumbles.

Hey! Mayweather, he’s the coolest, never without his sunglasses. I swear he walks in a Holy Light, a man who could read the hidden messages in a test pattern.

“Nobody works on the Boulevard they only perform; this is their universe with no soundtrack”, He shouts then points.

“Look at that old Filipino face with a sign, he thinks Jesus is for sale.”

Young men nicely dressed selling trips to the hills to see the stars in convertible vans; “Maybe silver ash will bless the pilgrims as they pass” His song carries-on.

A woman wearing paper shoes from the Nail Palace next to the alley is stomping on aluminum cans. Watching is an Armenian man in a gray hat standing at the entrance of Geiger’s Rare Books.

“Oh my, the Pig and Whistle is open, time to cheer the life on Hollywood Boulevard my friend, will you buy? “

Life in the City of Angels: Architecture and Fifty Shades of Gray

 

Whitewater WestKeystone 0062 Master EmailKeystone Master 0001 Email

Keystone 0044 Email

 

Whitewater WestKeystone Master 0015 Email

Whitewater West

 

 

Whitewater West

Keystone-Master-0004-Email

Whitewater West

Whitewater West

Whitewater West

Random Thoughts: I Didn’t Chop Off My Ear

Maybe it’s that I have time. Time to explore digital art using original images from my own personal “B roll” while on assignment for others. After all I did go to art school (which I never finished) but photography stole my heart and I left the brushes, charcoal and blank canvases behind. I have been lucky to sell a few pieces of work, but that not why I do it. It’s sort of wizardry moving from my analog days to the computer screen. Scanning old slides and listening to music while lost in my own mind and letting go of what art is suppose to be.
Joy! That’s what I find in pursuing my art and reconnecting to myself and others. I also find joy when friends ask me to illustrate the life of a loved one who has passed or when an illustration creates awareness of societies forgotten souls. So, I guess you could say that regardless of what medium of art you practice, it represents not the outward appearance of an artist but the inward essences of our humanity.

Judean-Wilderness-Banner

9.24.12Fallen Angel Flatten Web The-Conversation 401162_3050163266067_1999996768_n 401162_3050163226066_703883438_n 401162_3050163186065_1405312542_n

Jerusalem RoofTops

Arab Hill

Desert Mothers and child

Desert Calling

Befor-and-After Before-and-After Mary's Gandpa Before & After copy

%d bloggers like this: