LA is mostly sitting in traffic.

My first day here I get stuck in gridlock on Santa Monica Boulevard between two art supply stores. I see the fire burning just north of there before turning east. I need mural paint and stupidly don’t check whether the first store stocks it before driving out. Now I’m sitting here watching traffic lights turn yellow, red, and green several times over before making it through a block.

The house is many miles from the fires but all social plans I’ve made have been canceled because of it. I’m getting off easy. I hear my parents and my brother and sister-in-law talking about awful pictures and video and stories of movie star homes burnt to nothing. I haven’t seen or heard a thing myself. I don’t follow the news.

At dinner one night, my brother asks if I feel better ignoring current events and I don’t know how to answer. It’s what I feel I have to do in order to function. I say that short of helping people evacuate or riding on a fire truck the information and images of this disaster being in my head wouldn’t serve any purpose to anyone.

I’d done a lot of work to prepare ahead of time but painting the wall is still a challenge. It’s by far the biggest picture I’ve ever made and stucco’s not paper or canvas.

After the first day, I’m not sure whether I can pull it off; on the second day, I find some sort of rhythm. All the research and sketches aren’t necessarily evident in the final result but that’s to be expected. I don’t generally make things with a guide map or strategy. I like to discover the thing while I’m in it.

I’ve never gone snorkeling or scuba-diving. I don’t have a particular interest in the ocean deep. This is a commissioned picture made for a baby girl whose mother works in aquariums. I hope the girl gets something out of what I’ve made.

It feels like a reach. Time will tell.