In January I quested to Arcosanti, the commune founded by Paolo Soleri in the 70s – driving an RV down from San Fran along Big Sur, rocks in the road, rocks in the road – turnaround – rocks in the road – after Henry Miller’s library, before Est – the institute of calm – rocks in the road – moon craters – to HOLLYWOOD – where we burnt the sky, lived by Malibu, and by whales, and Mulholland, over the grid lights – diving from Chateau Marmont in the early lick of the Cali sun. To Palm Springs and Gram Parsons – and the Joshua Tree – to MECHICO – and BEYOND – and San Diego and Phoenix and the Grand Canyon and Vegas, baby.
But the place that our friend on Wonderland Avenue, the son of an architect, had suggested melted sci-fi 70s progressive commune ideas as concrete circles and light tubes and PERFECTION. The prog-haus of Cosanti – the school founded by Paolo Soleri – is like the Barbican but DIY – the South Bank but rooted to branch. I bought my father a bell in perfect pitch – the souvenirs that chime around the world to Soleri’s memory forever. He died today, age 93.
