Spoiler: It’s all about the view.
The best word to describe the Griffith Observatory is moody. As my very favorite spot in Los Angeles, I appreciate its deco-meets-mid-east design, delayed gratification drive and otherworldly purpose. Night is hands-down the best time to experience Griffith, where you can feel like a modern character in “Rebel Without a Cause” , slinking around the curves, hiding in shadowed corners and breathing in that insane view.
A close second in my heart, the Getty Center museum campus is more clean, more clear than Griffith. It’s a study in sophistication and modernity, boasting studious and creative goods in simple lines and lush grounds. It’s not just a museum, it’s a campus, devoted to learning, inspiration and beauty. You pay to park but not to visit, which I’ve always thought was just a little noble. And as much as what’s inside it draws crowds, the place itself is a star all on its own. You’ve not enjoyed the city until you’ve lounged in the grass on the hills of the Getty Center.
My two L.A. loves aren’t really all that different. One’s a stone’s throw from the famous Hollywood sign, the other sits at the edge of the Santa Monica Mountains and the 405. But they are united in each offering a unique heaven’s spyglass spot to observe the bustle and boom of the city below in a rare peace.
There is something thrilling about being perched on a cliff, gazing out over a silent city that’s actually exploding just beneath. On a recent Sunday afternoon visit to Getty, I stood in the smog-hidden sun overlooking the gardens and gazing over the property edge to the ant world below. I stood there for what felt like hours. Yes I saw a dynamic photography exhibit there but it’s not the treasures of the place that fascinate me, it’s the physicality of the structure itself that gets me high.
Fairly quickly I got what I wanted: that heady buzz. It’s a mix of in-breaths and overwhelmed eyes that can’t possibly take in everything in their view even though they are greedy enough to try. What is that feeling? It starts in the gut and crawls to the heart with the head always the last to know. It’s a little bit like brand new love and a little bit like sucker punch grief mixed with a pinch of unassailable hope and a whole lot of vague anticipation. Not scary, but not calm.
Standing on an edge looking to the horizon is a drug for me. And not just in L.A. but anywhere I can find it, I seek it. Now, I don’t feel compelled to jump but I do feel curious and drawn to whatever is out there. So what is that feeling and why does a peak’s perch spur it on? Is it power I experience or maybe solitude? Is it a form of judgment, omniscience or a reach for immortality? Is it a sense of knowing what others don’t or at least seeing in a way they can’t?
Per Webster’s, vantage is a position giving a strategic advantage, commanding perspective, or comprehensive view. I crave a vantage point – somewhere or some way to imagine, to strategize, to consider, that I could never achieve on my own. Since hitting middle age I’ve realized that in the now is still always a search: for alternatives, for possibilities, for knowledge, for compassion. This search sits in my person and is activated most when I travel and most when I’m perched somewhere just the littlest bit impossible.
I guess that’s why Getty gets me. It’s a vantage point just begging to be used for reflection, meditation and regrouping. You must leave your car and your normal state just to reach it. Ride the cable car up in one state, back down refreshed and recharged. Go up struggling with a problem and just maybe you’ll return with a solution in mind.
The beauty of Griffith is that it’s surreal, purposed to literally transcend this planet. To escape, that’s the place.
The beauty of Getty, though, is that it’s solidly of this Earth. To be more present, that’s the place.
The gardens and the grass and the imposing concrete, steel and travertine are tangible and functional. The buildings are linear and sensible, housing the work and creativity of humans striving to depict and understand this world. It’s a beautiful but rational monument to people while being a sanctuary for us as well.
This past year was rife with sadness and searching for people and things that seemed only to want to escape from me. That Sunday I summited with all the old things and returned from the perch just a bit lighter, releasing some fear and some hurt into those almost-too-close clouds and magical hills.
Standing on the edge of the world I found a little more coveted ground within myself.
