Big Fella, <em>Chino, at the intersection of Riverside Drive and state route 71, at the western boundary of the city, </em>c. 1970. (accessed January 29, 2010)

In my mind it’s 1965 in Diamond Bar, California, standing at the top of Covered Wagon Drive looking into the golden Chino Hills. Life is pretty crazy for me, and the empty hills are a place I can use my imagination away from other peoples’ attention. I can walk up my street out into those empty hills and be free to wander day or night. The emptiness was important to me then. It still is. I learned how to pay attention from playing in that emptiness, and I became skeptical of organized experiences with built-in meanings.

Of course those hills are gone; they’ve long since been chopped off, filled in and built over. The photo I remember, too, is either lost or was never taken, and this picture I found on the Internet is a substitute, standing in for a memory.

Experiences, once we pass through them, tend to disappear. In California this is also true of landscape.
Geoff Tuck, Observer

Further Reading